


Masquerade

by starborn_scribe (HowNovel)



Category: Roswell (TV), Starman (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-24
Updated: 2000-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/starborn_scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On December 6, 1999 Scott Hayden, the 27 year old son of the Starman and Jenny Hayden, arrived in Roswell tired, scared, and more than a little paranoid. He'd driven for three days after narrowly escaping capture in his hometown of Madison, Wisconsin. The peaceful existence that Scott and his family had enjoyed for nine years had evaporated. Alone in Roswell, Scott needed a paycheck to live on while he waited for his parents to join him -- and for the nightmare to end. Of the classified ads in the local newspaper the temporary teaching position at the high school interested Scott. Little did he know how interesting his students would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masquerade

MASQUERADE: A STARMAN-Roswell crossover story  
by Starborn Scribe, © 2000 

Introduction 

Aliens have always been big business for the science fiction industry. The majority of sci-fi films and television series of the 80's and 90's feature aliens as both protagonists and antagonists, such as _Star Wars_ , the various _Star Trek_ movies and series, _Alien Nation_ , and _Babylon 5_. Other productions take a more one-sided approach. The storylines of _V_ , _Alien/Aliens/Alien Resurrection_ , _Space, Above and Beyond, Independence Day, Starship Troopers,_ and _The X Files_ portray extraterrestrials as ominous otherworldly invaders menacing the human race. A smaller number of films and television shows like _E. T., Starman,_ and _Third Rock from the Sun_ , star benevolent extraterrestrials who must conceal their identities from the majority of the mistrusting humans around them. 

The television series _Roswell_ joined the latter group of science fiction productions in October 1999. _Roswell_ is centered around the three high school students, Max and Isabel Evans and Michael Guerin, who look human but definitely aren't. The three were found in the desert outside of Roswell in 1989 looking like six year old human children. They were adopted into foster homes and raised as humans. Max, Isabel, and Michael have grown up together knowing that they're not human and carefully keeping their secret from those around them. Their closely guarded secret is revealed in the first five minutes of the pilot episode. Liz Parker, one of their classmates, was caught in the crossfire of a violent altercation and was shot in the stomach. Max, who had been admiring her from afar for years, came to her rescue and healed the gunshot wound. Although Liz rebuffed the questions raised by her miraculous recovery, the incident attracted the attention of the local sheriff and, later, the FBI. Liz confronted Max, who revealed his and his friends' non-human nature for the first time. The secret soon spread to Liz's best friends, Maria Deluca and Alex Whitman, much to the aliens' consternation. The relationships between the aliens and their new human confidants have evolved from guarded and hesitant to accepting and, well, romantic. Max and Liz make eyes at each other, Michael and Maria alternately argue and make out, and Alex pines for Isabel. In the meantime Max, Isabel, and Michael seek to discover who they are, why they're on Earth, and find others of their race. 

"Masquerade" takes place in late autumn of 1999, between the _Roswell_ episodes "Balance" and "Toy House". At this point in the storyline Michael had recently recovered from a disturbing illness, complete with a clichéd cocoon and a Native American healing ceremony. The incident frightened the aliens, prompting them to distance themselves from their human friends. Max broke up with Liz while Michael avoided Maria. The whole thing is pretty farfetched, but suspend your disbelief and run with it. The characters are engaging and the overall storyline is intriguing. Below are thumbnail sketches of the main _Roswell_ characters for the uninitiated.

Max Evans (Jason Behr) - Max is the quiet, cautious leader of the group. He speaks with quiet authority and tends to react more often than act. Max has dark brown eyes and hair, a muscular build, and usually wears a pensive expression and practical but flattering clothing. He and his sister Isabel live in a comfortable suburban house with their caring foster parents. Max is obviously falling hard for his classmate Liz. 

Isabel Evans (Katherine Heigl) - Blond- haired, blue-eyed Isabel is Max's genetically unlikely sister. Isabel is part of the popular clique at school. She maintains a carefully aloof front with everyone except for Max and Michael. Beneath her perfect makeup and fashionable clothes is a desire for stability and family. Isabel watches out for Max and tends to be overprotective of Michael. 

Liz Parker (Shiri Appleby) - Liz is a hardworking, straight-A student with dark brown hair and eyes. Her parents own the Crashdown Cafe, where she and her best friend Maria waitress part-time. Before the shooting at the Crashdown, Liz was bored with her quiet suburban life. She had planned to attend college to study molecular biology. The fallout from the shooting and her feelings for Max alleviated her ennui but have introduced a new, disconcerting unpredictability into her life. Liz does her best to control the disorder around her. 

Michael Guerin (Brendan Fehr) - Michael is the rebel with a cause. He lives in a rundown trailer with his alcoholic and occasionally abusive foster father. Michael believes that the world owes him, and that everyone except for Isabel and Max is a potential enemy. His punk haircut and clothing match his rebellious attitude. Michael is a tall, broad-shouldered loner with brown eyes and hair. His impulsive, quick- tempered nature frequently conflicts with Max's cautiousness. Michael is struggling with his attraction to Maria. 

Maria Deluca (Majandra Delfino) - Maria is quirky, emotional, and intuitive - the opposite of her best friend Liz. She wears retro and other offbeat clothing. The style of her short blond hair changes from week to week. Maria tends to panic a bit in stressful situations and touts the benefits of the herbal supplements and new age remedies she occasionally uses. Despite her flightiness, she is a loyal and dependable friend. Maria is trying to figure out how to handle her mercurial relationship with Michael.

Alex Whitman (Colin Hanks) - Tall, gangly Alex has been good friends with Liz and Maria since childhood. The girls' sudden secrecy after the shooting at the Crashdown nearly destroyed their friendship. Shortly after Alex helped reveal the identity of an undercover FBI agent at the high school, he guessed the truth and was reluctantly brought into the group. Alex is a dark-haired, dark-eyed class clown who typically wears "skater" clothing. Although he tries to hide it, Alex is clearly attracted to Isabel. 

The _Starman_ side of "Masquerade" was influenced by two other _Starman_ fanfiction works: Melinda Y's Wisconsin trilogy and Lil S's novella "No Turning Back". "Masquerade" follows the storyline and includes characters established in Melinda's trilogy. The trilogy is available elsewhere on this Archive. Lil’s novella provided a portion of Scott's background integral to the plot of this story. Thanks, Melinda and Lil! 

Here's a brief synopsis of the events in this corner of the _Starman_ fanfiction universe. In 1989 Mark Shermin, the scientist who helped Starman escape in 1971, published a book about a Starman on Earth which became a best seller. The tabloids were all over the story, leaving Paul and Scott with nowhere to hide. Father and son separated. Scott lived with friends of the Hayden family in Montana. There he met 16 year old Melany Parsons, an intelligent, strong-willed, but painfully shy young woman of Crow descent. Paul searched for Jenny Hayden in northern Wisconsin while his lawyer worked on a lawsuit against the tabloids. In the end Melany traveled to Wisconsin with Scott. The family was reunited and Paul and Jenny married. Paul convinced the media that he was the "real" Paul Forrester with a press conference, and Fox finally realized that neither Paul nor Scott were a threat to humanity. Things have been relatively quiet ever since. Below are thumbnail sketches of the _Starman_ characters for symmetry's sake. 

Paul (the Starman - Robert Hays) and Jenny Forrester (Jenny Hayden - Erin Gray) - Paul and Jenny, now in their early 50's, live in a house on Lake Mendota in suburban Madison. Jenny is a successful artist in the region. Paul continues to do freelance photography. He has traveled widely both alone and with his family, which suits his insatiable curiosity. 

Scott Hayden (Christopher Daniel Barnes) and Melany Parsons (from Melinda Y's Wisconsin trilogy) - Scott and Melany, now 27 and 26 years old respectively, are married and live in an apartment in Madison, Wisconsin. Both are grad students at the University of Wisconsin. Scott recently earned a master's in biochemistry. Melany is interning at a local hospital in pursuit of her medical degree. 

After six seasons of _The X Files’_ elusive "grays", shifty shapechangers, and insidious black oil, it's been a pleasure to follow the adventures of the "nice" aliens of _Roswell._ Given the striking similarities between _Roswell_ and _Starman_ , it seemed fitting to write a story so that Paul and Scott could show Max, Michael, and Isabel the ropes. After all, the angst is out there.

###    
**Chapter 1: Arrival**  


"Elizabeth Parker?" the new biology substitute teacher called. 

Liz continued doodling on the cover of her biology textbook. "Here," Liz replied halfheartedly. _I'm never going to learn any bio at this school with one sub after another_ , she thought. 

"Do you prefer Elizabeth or Beth?" the substitute asked. Liz looked up at the latest substitute - Scott Geffner, according to blackboard behind him - with mild surprise. He stood at the far end of the lab table holding the attendance sheet folded lengthwise, pencil in hand. Dark eyebrows arched questioningly over darker eyes set in a pleasant, heart-shaped face. 

"Uh, Liz, actually." 

Geffner turned his attention to the attendance sheet. "Okay, Liz," he said as he wrote. Geffner looked up and smiled briefly at Liz. "Glad I asked." Liz returned the smile. Geffner turned towards the middle of the classroom. "Jason Raffay?" 

Liz studied Geffner as he continued taking attendance over the students' quiet chatter. Geffner was no older than thirty, Liz supposed. Judging from his clothes and accent he wasn't from the southwest originally. The lines of his blue dress shirt and light khaki pants complimented his tall, thin build. Geffner crossed the classroom a few times as he called roll to see each student, marking down more nicknames. _This guy might be a decent teacher after all_ , she mused. _At least he's bothering to learn our names._ Liz glanced sidelong at Max, who sat to her right. Max was watching Geffner, too. 

The classroom door opened. Michael strode in empty-handed, wearing his usual disinterested expression. Ignoring the other eyes on him, Michael regarded Geffner standing a few feet away. Liz watched Michael size up the situation. She could practically hear his conclusion: another new sub, time to ditch class. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Sorry, wrong classroom," he told Geffner and turned to the door. 

"You must be Michael," Geffner said evenly. "Have a seat." The subdued conversations ended abruptly. 

Michael looked at him ironically. "I don't think so," he said, turning the doorknob. 

"Why not?" Geffner asked simply. 

Michael straightened, took a step towards Geffner, and looked him in the eye. "Because I've got better things to do than the fill-in-the-blank worksheets that you subs hand out." 

Geffner met his gaze calmly. "You'll be doing lab exercises, not worksheets, and I'll be here for the rest of the marking period," he explained in a firm voice. "If you've got a problem with that, leave. Otherwise sit down." Geffner turned his back on Michael and headed for the lab table at the front of the classroom. Michael blinked at Geffner's retreating back momentarily, then took the nearest seat. Liz and Max exchanged surprised looks. The classroom remained silent. 

Geffner leaned against the front of the lab table and faced the class. He glanced at the attendance sheet and looked up at Michael. "Michael Guerin," Geffner stated. "Do you prefer Michael or Mike?" 

Michael's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "I prefer Mr. Guerin," he replied. Max sighed and rolled his eyes. 

Geffner returned the smile with a slight nod. "All right, Mr. Guerin it is," he said. Liz groaned inwardly. 

Geffner looked up at the class. "Let's get to work," he announced. Geffner pulled a short stack of papers from his nylon briefcase bag on top of the lab table. "This is the syllabus for the rest of the marking period," he said as he handed copies to the students at the ends of the tables to pass back. Liz stared at her copy in disbelief. Geffner expected them to get through five chapters in the next three weeks! "The dates of the quizzes and tests are listed, as well as the due dates of labs and homework assignments, so you know exactly what you're responsible for when." Students' grumbles and moans filled the room. "I realize that this is a lot to cover — we're making up for the previous few weeks. I've listed my office hours at the top of the syllabus. If you've got questions about the material I'm covering or that other teachers covered previously, please come and ask. That's what I'm here for." Geffner waited for the class to finish reading the syllabus. "Are there any questions?" he asked. 

Michael's hand reached lazily into the air. "Yeah, I have one." 

"Yes, Mr. Guerin?" 

"Do you prefer Mr. Geffner or 'Slavedriver'?" Michael drawled. 

Geffner crossed his arms and leaned against the table. He fixed a droll look on Michael. "Neither, _Mr. Guerin_. You can call me 'Sir'."

****** 

Late afternoon heat radiated in tremulous waves from the asphalt of the high school parking lot. Max and Isabel crossed the lot towards their jeep. Michael stalked over to the jeep from a different direction. He leaned against it and folded his arms across his chest.

"Uh-oh," Isabel said softly to her brother as they approached the jeep. "What happened now?" 

Max recalled Michael's verbal sparring with Geffner. "The new sub for biology took Michael down a peg in class today." 

"Really," Isabel grinned. She wished she'd been there. 

When they'd reached the jeep, Michael nodded a curt greeting and fixed his gaze on Max. "Can you _believe_ that?!" Michael exclaimed. "I mean, _no one_ treats me like that!" 

"Michael, relax," Max said. 

"I hear the sub had you sit in the corner in bio today," Isabel teased. "How embarrassing." 

Michael glared at Isabel, then returned his attention to Max. "There's something weird about that guy." 

"What, he's got a backbone?" 

"No, I'm saying that he's not your average teacher." Michael's voice lowered conspiratorially. "He might be another FBI plant like Topolsky!" 

After a moment of alarm, Max and Isabel frowned in disagreement. "Don't be ridiculous," Isabel countered. "They'd be crazy to send another mole so soon after Topolsky left." 

Michael lounged against the jeep and crossed his arms again. "Would they?" he challenged, raising his eyebrows. "We haven't even considered the possibility of another spy at the school until now — thanks to me." 

Max looked wanly at Michael. "Thanks for sharing, Michael." 

Michael sighed in frustration. "Look, all I'm saying is that we should keep an eye on him. If Geffner—" 

"You mean 'Sir'," Max interjected with a mischievous grin. 

"-- _Geffner_ is just an unusually competent sub, great. But if he isn't, I'd rather be on the lookout." 

Isabel and Max mulled it over. "Michael's right," Isabel said, looking from Michael to Max. "We need to be aware, maybe ask a few questions." 

The corner of Michael's mouth curled into a sly smile. "I'll see what I can find out." 

Concern clouded Max's face. "Michael, please don't do anything ... rash." 

Michael threw his hands up in mock defense. "Me, rash? I assure you that all of my inquiries will be carefully thought through." 

"That's what I'm afraid of," Max muttered. 

"So the guy's name's Geffner?" Isabel asked. Max and Michael nodded. Michael's attention strayed to somewhere behind Isabel and Max. "What does he—" 

"Speak of the devil," Michael interrupted. He nodded to Max's and Isabel's left. They turned their heads and saw Geffner traversing the rapidly emptying parking lot about 75 feet away. Isabel couldn't make out much detail. She saw a tall, thin white man with short dark hair in dress clothes with a bag slung on his left shoulder. 

"He's too skinny to be an FBI agent," Isabel commented. 

Michael shrugged. "What were you expecting, a hulking man-in-black?" Isabel shrugged. 

Geffner stopped at the driver's side door of a dusty navy blue pickup with a steel tool box in the bed behind the cab. He opened the door, tossed his bag inside, got in, and rolled down the windows. As he backed the truck out of the parking space, Isabel noticed the white rear license plate with red lettering. "Hey, those aren't New Mexico plates. I guess he just moved here." 

"It'll be easy to spot his truck at least," Max observed. The three of them watched him drive off and turn left on to the main road. 

"Looks like he lives on my side of town," Michael said. 

"Have you seen him around the trailer park?" Isabel asked. 

Michael shook his head. "Nah. I bet he's in one of the townhouse or apartment complexes before the trailer park." 

"Um, Michael, I don't think there's any need to stalk the guy," Max said quietly. "He hasn't done anything besides start work after Topolsky left and bruise your ego a little." 

Michael fixed a weary look on Max. "Maxwell," he said with a slight smile, "you're no fun."

****** 

A vortex of amber fluid and ice swirled in the tall glass. The man calling himself Scott Geffner pulled the long-handled spoon out of his iced tea and morosely watched the tiny storm twirl about. The contained turbulence gradually slowed until the only movement was beads of moisture sliding down the outside of the glass. Scott smiled bitterly to himself. _Before_ , he thought. Scott plunged the spoon into the glass and jerked it around suddenly. The liquid rushed into frantic motion, clinking the ice cubes hollowly against the sides of the glass. _And after._

Scott wondered who was behind the chaos currently dominating his life. For nine years the government had let him and his family live in peace. He and his father Paul were careful not to draw attention to themselves - a kind of compromise, perhaps - and enjoyed a peaceful and mostly normal existence in Madison, Wisconsin. But someone somewhere in the bowels of D.C. must have dug out FSA file 617-W, waved it under some important noses, and fanned the flames of suspicion and paranoia. He imagined their conversations: "There are aliens, aliens, living among us! We must find them and see what they're capable of, if they're a threat to society, what their intentions are ... "

Four years as a fugitive had taught Scott a thing or two about suspicion and paranoia. Scott first suspected he was being followed in Madison one week ago. Although he figured he was overreacting, Scott discussed the possibility with his parents and his wife Melany. They developed plans of escape, hiding, and rendezvous just in case. 

Five days ago their plans had been put to the test. Three stocky, dark-suited men converged on Scott as he walked across the University of Wisconsin campus. His knowledge of the area, long, fast legs, and anticipation of a trap allowed him to escape. Scott recalled the frantic drive to Chicago after he'd reached his truck, which was already packed with supplies. A drivers license, registration, and social security card for Scott Geffner and $1000 in cash waited for him in a Chicago P.O. box as Liz Baynes had promised. The following few days had been a blur of highways and nearly deserted campgrounds. His circuitous drive to Roswell had gone without incident. Now he was stuck in this tourist trap in the middle of nowhere, reliving the nightmare of his teenage years on the run from the government with his father. This time, however, he was alone. 

Scott's eyes focused on the glass again. The fluid was still, and the ice had melted during his reverie. He was in the eye of the storm, and he knew it. Scott raised the glass to his lips and took a long drink of the diluted tea. _Just lay low, make a few bucks, and wait for Mom and Dad to get here_ Scott told himself. Despite the logic of the thought, Scott's long-dormant fears resurfaced. _Then what? Another four years of running and hiding? We don't even know who's after us!_ Scott sighed in worry and frustration. 

"Your first day couldn't have gone that badly," a female voice said. Scott straightened in his seat in the back booth of the Crashdown Cafe and looked for the voice's owner. An older couple chatted quietly in the booth near the front door. Behind the counter to his right a willowy, blue-uniformed waitress - not the one who'd taken his order - stood with her back to him. She flipped some light switches and incandescent light overpowered the ebbing daylight filtering through the windows. The waitress turned and walked towards him, tying on her apron. Scott pegged her as a high school student from her makeup, the style of her short blond hair, and youthful face. "You're subbing for Mrs. Corino, right?" 

"That's right," Scott replied. She stopped at the counter opposite him and idly wiped the countertop with a cloth. He squinted at her name tag: Maria. "You'll have to forgive me, Maria - I met about 80 people today, not counting teachers. Which class of mine are you in?" 

"None. A few of my friends are, though." 

"Oh, who?" 

"Liz Parker and," Maria smiled slyly, "Mr. Guerin." 

Scott smiled wanly. "Ah, the infamous Mr. Guerin. Word travels fast around here." 

"That's for sure." Maria regarded him thoughtfully. "Don't let Michael get to you. He's always like that." 

Scott shrugged. "There's one of those in every class." An amused smile crept across Maria's face. Scott decided to change the subject. He nodded towards the front of the store. "Kinda dead in here tonight. Does it pick up later in the week?" 

"Yeah. Weeknights are usually pretty slow," Maria answered. Leaving the cloth on the countertop, she pulled an order pad from her uniform pocket. After flipping a few pages she said, "Julie left your bill from before. Do you want something to eat?" 

Scott suddenly realized that he was hungry. "Sure. How about a cheeseburger?" 

Maria scribbled on the pad. "One HAL-burger with cheese," she smiled and disappeared into the kitchen. 

Scott took another sip of his iced tea. _Great, this place is virtually empty for most of the week. What a terrific 'inconspicuous' rendezvous place,_ he thought sarcastically. Scott wished he could talk to his mother and father to find out _which_ evening they'd meet, but that was impossible. They'd had to split up and avoid unnecessary contact if they were to elude their pursuers. By using his sphere Scott knew that his parents were uninjured and somewhere to the north. Scott could also tell that Melany was unharmed but worried. She'd planned to remain in Wisconsin, hiding out at their friends' house in the country for a few days. They believed that the feds would concentrate on capturing Paul, Jenny, and Scott and would give up on Melany if she disappeared for a while. 

Scott desperately hoped it was true. He intended to find out tomorrow at the high school's computer lab. For now all he could do was twist the turquoise-inlaid wedding band on his left hand and hope. 

"Here ya go, Mr. Geffner," Maria said, setting the cheeseburger platter in front of Scott. Her eyes flitted to Scott's wedding ring. "Where's Mrs. Geffner?" 

"Home," Scott replied absently. He snapped to the present and looked at Maria sharply. "Are you always this nosy?" 

Maria grinned unabashedly. "Just curious, sorry. Enjoy your meal." She turned on her heel and busied herself behind the counter. 

Scott picked up his cheeseburger and took a bite. _Not bad for the middle of nowhere,_ he thought. He glanced at Maria out of the corner of his eye. _I definitely won't be bored waiting here if Maria works here a lot. I'll be too busy fending off her questions._

******

Michael strode alternately through buildings' long shadows and the golden glow of the setting sun as he walked north on Main Street. A cherry red Mustang convertible sped past. Michael enviously watched it disappear into the distance. _I so need a car,_ he thought. 

Although Michael avoided the excuse for a father and the trailer he called home as much as possible, it was the place with his bed and all of his stuff, so he needed a ride there. Since it was a long walk to the Evans' and he was loathe to take the bus, Michael headed for the Crashdown Cafe. He knew Maria worked Wednesdays and hoped she'd drop her jilted girlfriend act long enough to give him a lift. Michael couldn't figure her out. _I told her I can't get attached. Why can't she understand that?_

As he approached the cafe Michael noticed Maria's battered Subaru in the Crashdown's small parking lot on the side of the building. One of the other two vehicles in the lot caught his eye - a dark blue truck with out-of-state plates. Michael laughed out loud and glanced around. The sidewalks were nearly empty and late evening shadows enveloped the parking lot. _Perfect timing, Geffner,_ Michael thought with a smug grin. _Just stay in there a little while longer._

Without breaking stride Michael moved to Geffner's truck. He paused to read the rear license plate. "Wisconsin?" he muttered. Michael shrugged and went to the driver's side door. Two parking stickers adorned the window, one for Madison Central Hospital and the other for the University of Wisconsin at Madison's fall 1999 semester. _Either he got sick of school or he's got a good cover,_ Michael concluded. 

Michael tried the door handle. It was locked. _There's no trust in the world anymore,_ he thought, and waved his hand over the lock. The door unlocked with a soft thunk. A satisfied smile spread across Michael's face. He opened the door and the truck's dome light turned on. Michael grimaced and quickened his search. The cab was uncluttered. A pair of sunglasses hung on the visor. Lying on the passenger seat was a cassette case, a new-looking Chavez County roadmap, and a dog-eared road atlas of the United States. A folded piece of white paper was sandwiched between the county map and the atlas. Michael pulled it out, unfolded it, and smiled in delight at the photocopied map in his hand. An arrow hand drawn in pink highlighter snaked through the driveways of the Saddlecreek townhouse complex not two miles from his trailer to the rectangle representing building four. "4-A" was marked in bubbly handwriting above and to the left of the rectangle. Michael folded the map and tucked it under the county map with a chuckle. 

With the townhouse map back as he'd found it, Michael reached for the knob to open the glove compartment. It was locked as well. _Jeez,_ Michael thought. He passed his hand over the knob and the glove compartment fell open. Not much was inside - Geffner's Wisconsin registration, the truck's owner’s manual, an ice scraper, and an opened pack of gum. Michael frowned and exhaled loudly. _Nothing suspicious whatsoever,_ he thought. _No 10 badge, handcuffs, gun, nothing._ Michael wavered between relief and disappointment. He took a stick of gum and closed and locked the glove compartment. 

Michael straightened and pushed down the lock on the inside of the driver's side door. He closed the door and looked around again. The shadows had melted into twilight and no one was in view, so Michael decided to take a look in the tool box in the bed of the truck. He leaned forward, waved open the lock, and lifted the lid. The chest was packed to the top, and not with tools. A rolled-up sleeping bag, a tent, and an inflatable camping pad lay on top. He reached inside and felt several metal objects - a pot, a frying pan, and some utensils. Michael pulled his arm out and frowned at the collection of camping gear before him. _Who the hell takes their camping stuff with them everywhere they go?_

The jingle of the bells attached to the Crashdown's front door carried to the parking lot. Michael cursed under his breath and closed the tool chest's lid as footsteps approached. He locked the tool chest with a quick wave of his hand and looked for somewhere to hide. The side of the building provided no cover. Maria's car was parked about 15 feet away. Michael sprinted to it and squatted behind its far side, hoping that it wasn't Maria coming out to get something. He peered over the hood of the car near the windshield. 

Geffner rounded the corner of the building and walked towards his truck. The streetlights illuminated him from behind. From the way his head tilted down and a little to the side, he seemed to be lost in thought. 

Not wanting to be seen when the truck's headlights went on, Michael took a step to the side. His foot scuffed the pavement. Geffner stopped in his tracks a few feet from the truck and looked in Michael's direction. Michael froze. Geffner reached into his right pants pocket and pulled something out, holding it in enclosed in his fist. He stood still and stared towards Michael for several seconds. Finally Geffner slowly looked around and continued to his truck. With one last glance over his shoulder, Geffner returned whatever was in his hand to his pocket, opened the driver's side door, and got in his truck. Michael released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. 

After Geffner's truck had turned right on to Main Street, Michael stood up and stretched his legs. He walked to the cafe wondering why Geffner had been so spooked by such a little noise and what he'd gotten from his pocket. 

Michael pushed open the cafe door. The bells announced his arrival. Maria looked up from the cash register behind the counter. The beginnings of a smile turned into a glower. She returned her attention to the bill she was ringing up. Michael strode past an older couple occupying a booth in the front of the store and sat in his usual booth towards the rear of the room. He drummed his fingers on the table. Michael wasn't sure how much, if any, of his suspicions about Geffner to tell Maria. 

The coins inside the cash register jingled as Maria slammed the drawer shut. She walked around the counter with a receipt and change in one hand and a menu in the other. Maria wordlessly tossed the menu on Michael's table and proceeded to the older couple's booth with their change. Michael pursed his lips angrily. _It's because of Liz's big mouth that Maria's involved in any of this. It's not fair,_ he thought, _for any of us._

The other customers left. After Maria bussed their table, she went to Michael's booth with her order pad in hand. "May I take your order, or do you need a few minutes?" she said with a saccharin-sweet smile. 

Michael shot back an artificial smile of his own. "Neither. I need to ask you something—" he hesitated "— two things." 

"Oh?" Maria shrugged. "Less work for me." She retrieved the menu from the table. "Shoot." 

"That guy that was in here a little while ago - thin, dark hair - did he do anything unusual?" 

"Unusual, like run a 112 degree fever and spin a cocoon, or unusual like leave me a nice tip?" 

"For Christ's sake," Michael muttered angrily. He rose abruptly to leave. 

Maria put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him with concern. "Wait, what is it?" 

Michael scowled at her but sat down. "I think he's kind of suspicious. I need more information." 

"He's the new sub for your biology class. What more do you need to know?" 

"He might be another Topolsky. I want to know for sure." 

Maria glanced at the booth Geffner had sat in. "No, he didn't do anything weird. He wasn't talkative at all. Seemed kind of down. He did leave me a nice tip, though." 

"Oh," Michael said distractedly. Something about Geffner nagged at him. He pushed it aside for now and looked at Maria. "Thanks," he said sincerely. 

"What was the other thing?" Maria asked. 

Michael smiled self-consciously. "Would you give me a ride home?" 

The saccharin smile reappeared. "Nope." Maria glanced at her watch. "But you can catch the bus if you hurry." 

******

Max stared out the windows of the computer lab from his seat in the back of the room. It was the middle of fifth period, so only a few students strolled through the sunny commons outside. He glanced at the laser printer in the front of the room. A sheet of paper emerged, adding to the quarter-inch stack already in the tray. _How long can that guy's research paper be?_ Max thought, annoyed. _My essay's only three pages, and at this rate I'll be late to English._ He frowned at the back of Tolstoy's head and resumed his watch out the window. 

Movement at the front of the room caught Max's eye. Geffner stood near the door with his briefcase bag surveying the nearly empty computer lab. His gaze landed on Max. "Hi, Max," he said with a smile. 

"Hi, Mr. Geffner." 

Geffner strode down the center aisle dividing the rows of workstations. He sat down behind a computer a row ahead and a few seats down from Max. Geffner twisted around in his seat and looked at Max. "Are all of these computers connected to the Internet?" he asked. 

"Um-hum," Max affirmed. "Surfing the 'net?" 

"No. Got some email to catch up on," he replied. He turned around, took hold of the mouse, and clicked a few times. Max strained to see what Geffner was doing, but the screen was illegible from his point of view. After a few more clicks Geffner began typing rapidly. Max wondered what he was writing and where he learned to type that fast. _It probably doesn't matter,_ Max thought. _An FBI agent wouldn't be using school computers to email their supervisors. Topolsky had her own laptop, anyway._

Max glanced at the printer - still going. He went back to people-watching, accompanied by the clacking of Geffner's keyboard and the whir of the printer. Outside a lithe dark-haired girl hurried across the commons. Max's breath caught. _Liz,_ he thought, then realized the girl was someone else. _I can't believe I'm this hung up on her. I've got to get a handle on this,_ Max told himself. _We can't get involved. Liz shouldn't be caught up in my problems._ Max sighed and stared at the screensaver on his monitor. 

Geffner's typing ended abruptly. Max watched him out of the corner of his eye. Geffner reached into his bag, pulled out a black unlabeled floppy disk, and inserted it into the computer's disk drive. He clicked the mouse several more times. Max could just make out several windows opening and closing on the screen. Geffner ejected the disk, put it in his briefcase, stood up, and shouldered his bag. Max quickly turned his eyes to the printer. He was pleased to see that Tolstoy and his ream of papers were gone. A few pages lay in the printer tray. Max stood up as Geffner turned towards him. 

"See you later, Max," Geffner said. 

"See ya," Max returned. He walked to the printer as Geffner strode into the hallway. Max retrieved his printout and looked around the room. His only company was a fair-skinned girl with curly red hair sitting in the second row. She appeared to be completely absorbed in whatever was on the screen. Max strode down the aisle and sat at the computer Geffner had used. He set his printout aside and grabbed the mouse. Max started the email program and opened the "sent" mailbox. It contained about 50 messages. Max glanced at his watch - 11:34 a.m. - and sorted the messages by date. The last message had been sent at 9:14 that morning. Max frowned and checked the "trash" mailbox. No messages had been transferred to that mailbox since 10:10 a.m. "Humph," Max snorted and frowned at the screen for a moment. _I know!_ he thought and opened the recycle bin. It was empty. _Damn._ Max squinted at the screen, wondering why Geffner had been so careful not to leave any files behind. 

The bell rang and students poured into the hallway outside. Max grabbed his printout, got his books, and joined the stream of teenagers in the hall. He was still mulling over Geffner's carefully deleted email when he spotted Liz and Alex at Liz's locker. Alex leaned against the neighboring locker while balancing a black laptop carrying case on his knee, grinning from ear to ear. He partially unzipped the top of the case and lifted it to show Liz its contents. "That's cool, Alex," Liz agreed. 

Max walked up to them. "New toy?" 

Alex and Liz looked up at him. Liz smiled shyly while Alex grinned enthusiastically. "Yeah, my new laptop!" Alex exclaimed. "It's a 400 megahertz PII with 128 megs of RAM, a six gig hard drive, 56 K modem, a network card, and an active matrix display! Sweet, huh?" 

Max blinked from the onslaught of information. "Uh, yeah," he agreed. "If you don't mind me asking, how'd you get the money for it?" 

"My parents matched the money I'd been saving. It was a surprise birthday present," Alex explained happily. 

"Oh, happy birthday, I didn't know," Max said, embarrassed. Alex had stuck his neck out to help them expose Topolsky as an FBI agent, and he didn't even know that his new friend's birthday had come and gone. 

Alex carefully zipped shut the laptop's case. "That's okay, thanks," he said with a shrug. Liz shut her locker and the three of them joined the throng of students moving down the hall. 

"Actually, Alex, I've got a computer question for you," Max said suddenly. Alex looked at him. "When you delete a file on a computer, is it gone forever?" 

Alex shook his head. "No, it's still there, at least for a little while. Only the pointer telling the computer where to find the file is actually deleted." 

Liz frowned at him. "What do you mean, 'for a little while'?" 

"Well, the file was written somewhere on the hard disk. If the pointer's gone it will be overwritten by something else eventually." Alex turned to Max curiously. "Why? Did you accidentally delete something you need?" 

"Um, yeah, on one of the PCs in the computer lab a little while ago," Max lied. 

"I can help you get it back," Alex grinned. "Download a recovery program from the 'net and - presto! - it's back. Along with some other people's stuff, too, most likely. You find the most interesting things that way." Liz and Max peered at him questioningly. "So I've heard," Alex added hurriedly. He cleared his throat and looked at Max. "Wanna meet in the computer lab after school today? Your file probably won't be overwritten yet." 

"That would be great," Max smiled. 

"Okay, just don't forget what computer you were using. And make a backup next time," Alex counseled. "What did you trash by mistake, anyway?" 

"Oh, uh, a copy of an email," Max feigned. 

"That must be one important message," Liz remarked. 

Max forced a smile. "Yeah." He broke away from them towards his English classroom. "See you later." 

******

The cool, dry air drifting down from the ducts in the computer lab made Max shiver. He frowned at the vent above his chair and turned back to the screen of the computer that Geffner had used earlier. Max and Alex watched the web browser's progress meter inch across the screen. The black bar finally reached 100% and finished downloading with a beep. Alex moved the mouse over the recovery program's icon and lifted his finger to click on it. 

"Um, Alex, before you run that, there's something you need to know," Max said abruptly. 

Alex looked worriedly at him for a moment, then grinned wryly. "What, Max? After the past few weeks, there's not much you can say that will surprise me." 

Max nodded at the monitor. "That's not my email you're recovering," he said quietly. "It's Geffner's." 

"Who?" 

"The guy who's subbing for Mrs. Corino." 

Alex frowned at Max. "Why do you care what some substitu—" Alex's eyebrows shot up. He glanced at the two other students sitting at computers on the opposite side of the room. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You don't think that he's another Topolsky, do you? They'd be stupid to send another agent so soon with the same exact cover." 

"I agree, but I want to be sure," Max frowned. "Why else would Geffner have been so careful to delete the email he sent?" 

Alex shrugged. "I dunno. You think they'd at least give the guy his own laptop." He double-clicked on the recovery program's icon and grinned. "Maybe the UFO division is really strapped for cash." 

Max and Alex watched the recovery program's progress meter crawl across the screen as it worked. The hard drive thrashed for over a minute, and a window containing several dozen filenames popped open. Max squinted at the list of names. Some seemed to be missing an initial letter, while others were composed of numbers and letters. He looked at Alex with furrowed brows. "Which one is it?" 

"Good question." Alex peered at the screen and mused aloud. "The email program probably saved it as a temp file, so ... " Alex sorted the list by name. Forty-odd files beginning with "eup9912" grouped together. Alex glanced at Max. "Any idea what time he sent the message?" 

"Around 11:30." 

Alex scrolled down until files beginning with "eup99120B" were at the top of the window. He highlighted the one named "eup99120B112B.tmp" with a click of the mouse. "It's a timestamp - year, month, day, hour, minute," Alex smiled. "Let's take a look." He clicked again on the highlighted file. 

A jumble of letters and numbers appeared in a new window. Alex exhaled loudly as Max frowned at the screen. "What the hell is that?" 

"It's code," Alex said. "The message is encrypted." 

"Shit," Max said under his breath. "Geffner _is_ an FBI agent." 

Alex shook his head. "Not necessarily," he disagreed. Alex pointed at the top line of the message with the mouse. 

————— BEGIN PGP MESSAGE ————— 

"See this line?" he asked. Max nodded. "'PGP' stands for 'Pretty Good Privacy'," Alex explained. "It's a free encryption program that lots of people use to protect email messages and files. You exchange PGP keys, which are just small text files, with the people you're going to send and receive encrypted messages to and from. I've used it. It's pretty cool." Alex shrugged. "Geffner's just a privacy freak." 

Max nodded at the computer monitor. "Could one of the files that the recovery program dug up be his PGP key?" 

"Man, you _really_ want to see what the guy wrote," Alex remarked. "Don't you think you're being a wee bit paranoid?" 

Max glowered at him. "Call me paranoid if you want. You're not the one with a giant-sized test tube with your name on it," he whispered harshly. "I — we — need to know about this guy for sure." Max stood up. "Thanks for your help," he frowned. 

"Whoa, wait," Alex said and grabbed Max's arm. He met Max's eyes sincerely. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to thinking of things from that, uh, point of view." Max smiled grimly and sank back into his seat. Alex continued quietly, "I don't think the PGP keys you need are here. It would be pretty stupid of him to leave them on here." He nodded at the confusion of numbers and letters on the screen. "To read this you need both Geffner's public and private keys. He's got to have them somewhere." 

Max's eyebrows rose as he remembered the black floppy disk that Geffner had inserted in the computer's disk drive. "Like on a floppy disk?" 

"Sure." 

Max snorted. "I think he's got them on a disk, but how the hell am I going to get at it?" 

Alex shrugged. He pulled a disk of his own from the case of his new laptop and pushed it into the computer's floppy drive. He nodded at the encrypted message glowing on the screen. "I'll save a copy of this. It'll be waiting for you if you get the keys." Alex saved the file, ejected the disk, and put it back into the laptop case. 

Alex's watch beeped. He glanced at it and swore. "It's three o'clock already!" Max reacted as well. Alex quickly closed windows and deleted files. "I'm supposed to be meeting my band for practice." 

"I've got to get to work myself. Thanks, Alex," Max smiled sincerely. The two stood and hurried out the door. In the hall they turned in opposite directions. 

"See ya, Max, and good luck!" Alex called over his shoulder. 

Max stopped and turned. "Thanks. Hey, if you see Michael, tell him to meet me at work." 

******

A viscous stream of neon green goo connected the oversized beaker collecting the substance to the nondescript plastic jug that Max poured it from. He stood in the middle of a brightly colored mock-up of a secret government laboratory. A counter and cabinets spray-painted silver stood against the wall behind him. An artificial alien subject lay on a gurney a few feet in front of him half-covered by a fluorescent orange sheet. Max guessed that the green goo was supposed to be a blood sample. A glob of it dripped on his hand holding the beaker. Max wiped it on his mustard-yellow UFO museum vest and instantly regretted it. Milton was already annoyed that Max had been late and would be even less pleased if one of his employees looked unprofessional. _That man takes his job way too seriously,_ Max thought. 

Milton's nasal voice boomed enthusiastically from the opposite end of the exhibit room. _A customer,_ Max thought with an amused smile. _I hope he doesn't ask for the guided tour, for his sake._ Max peered across the room for a glimpse of the unwitting victim. 

"Ah, no, but thanks," a male voice sounded hollowly across the high-ceilinged room. "I'll just take a look myself, okay?" Max chuckled. 

Milton stepped backwards into view, gesturing animatedly. "All right, but if you have any questions, any questions at all, don't hesitate to ask," he said with an eager smile. 

A tall, dark-haired man in jeans and a black T-shirt followed Milton reluctantly. "Yes, absolutely," he said hurriedly. The man's voice nagged at Max. Milton turned around and bustled off to the museum's theater. The customer looked curiously after him, shook his head, and turned to study the first of the exhibits. 

_Geffner!?_ Max thought astoundedly. Max deliberately kept still, both to prevent spilling any more goo and to not draw attention to himself. _He's just a teacher who's into encryption software, that's it,_ Max assured himself. He carefully righted the goo jug and managed to keep its sides clean. Max turned his back on Geffner and continued straightening the alien laboratory set. 

Every minute or so Max glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder at Geffner. He quietly moved from one garish exhibit to the next, sometimes smiling, other times shaking his head slightly or not reacting at all. One exhibit towards the back he strode past with only a fleeting glance, and examined the neighboring display on Nazca lines with interest. 

Max lost sight of Geffner as he worked his way down Max's side of the room. Max gathered his supplies in his arms and stepped down from the fake laboratory towards the supply closet. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geffner standing about ten feet to his right in front of the Devil's Postpile exhibit. 

"Hi, Max," Geffner said with an awkward smile. "I didn't know you work here." Max turned towards him and put on the best smile he could muster. "We keep running into each other. Do we have any plans for tonight?" he grinned. 

"Uh, no, not that I know of," Max managed. The boxes and bottles he carried shifted in his arms. Max juggled them. "Um, I'd better put these away before I drop everything." 

"Sure," Geffner agreed distractedly. He peered at Max with narrowed eyes. Max squirmed. "You've got something on your vest there," Geffner commented. 

Max blinked. "Oh, yeah," he laughed nervously, glancing on the green goo on his vest. "Thanks, I'll take care of that," he said with a tight-lipped smile and retreated into the supply room. Max unceremoniously dumped the supplies on a table and closed the door behind him with relief. After his nerves had calmed somewhat, Max put the bottles and boxes away. He began tidying up the supply closet with unprecedented efficiency. 

After a few minutes Milton's voice carried through the closet door. "Evans!" Max reluctantly opened the door and stuck his head out. Milton and Michael stood in the middle of the exhibit room. Geffner was nowhere in sight. "There you are," Milton said with a hint of annoyance. He gestured at Michael. "Your friend's looking for you." 

"Okay, thanks," Max said. Milton nodded and strode purposefully back into the theater. Max walked over to Michael, glancing to the left and right. 

Michael frowned at him. "What's with you?" 

"Geffner was here a little while ago." 

Michael smirked. "Comparing notes with his case files, I guess." He regarded Max seriously. "Alex said that you wanted to talk to me. What's up?" 

"Alex helped me download a recovery program to retrieve a PGP-encoded—" 

Michael up his hands up defensively. "Whoa, hold up. You're babbling computer-ese. In English, please?" 

Max frowned at Michael. "Geffner's sending encrypted emails from school." 

Michael's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding!" Max shook his head. Michael grimaced and lowered his voice. "To who? The FBI?" 

"We don't know. They're in code. We need to get two files he's got on a floppy disk to translate the message." 

"Where's the disk?" 

"In his bag, last I saw." 

Michael smiled slyly. "Well, I'm sure he doesn't take the bag to bed with him. I'll 'borrow' the disk late tonight. Walk in, grab the disk, and walk out." 

Max shifted his weight. "I don't know if that's such a good idea. Besides, we don't know where he lives, and I doubt he'll be in the phone book." 

Michael's smile grew. "Correction: _You_ don't know where he lives. I took a look in his truck last night. Looks like he just moved here from Wisconsin, into one of the _Saddlecreek_ townhouses. There was a nicely marked map leading right to his doorstep." Max blinked in surprise. "As for the actual borrowing," Michael continued, "it'll take 30 seconds. He won't even know I'm there. Piece of cake," Michael assured him with a wave of his hand. 

Max furrowed his brows worriedly. He liked to be in control of the situation, and this one had too many loose ends for comfort. "Michael, even if you get the disk, he'll realize that it's missing the next time he tries to send one of those emails." 

Michael shrugged. "'Borrowing' implies 'returning'. That's your job. Slip it in his bag at the computer lab or in class or something.”

Max pondered the situation for a moment. He looked up at Michael. "I don't know if this is worth breaking and entering. Alex said that lots of people encrypt their stuff. One encrypted email doesn't prove that Geffner's FBI. That email might just be a love letter to a girlfriend." 

"Well, he's hiding something, I'm sure of it," Michael stated confidently, then frowned slightly. "Geffner almost caught me poking around his truck last night. I hid so he never saw me, but he heard my foot scuff on the ground. He was seriously spooked. He took something out of his pocket—" 

"A gun?" Max asked under his breath. 

"No, it was too small. He held whatever it was in his fist and stared towards me for, like, five minutes." 

"Five minutes?" Max asked skeptically. 

"Well, it felt like five minutes. There's that, and all this camping gear in the back of his truck, and that everything was locked up tighter than a drum. Why would anyone lock their car in Roswell?" 

"Because of people like you?" Max deadpanned. 

Michael crossed his arms and smiled wryly. "Funny, Maximillian. You know I don't normally do this sort of stuff, although it is kinda fun." Michael's grin faded. "Wait a minute. Geffner didn't use any keys. I should have seen or at least heard him take them out." 

"That's what he took out of his pocket, Michael," Max stated flatly. 

Michael looked away distractedly. "Nuh-uh. He never put a key in the lock." 

"Then it was a car alarm remote control." 

Michael frowned. "I didn't hear the alarm beep or anything ... " He shook his head and turned back to Max. "What does the disk look like?" 

"Black, without a label." Max regarded Michael seriously. "Are you sure you want to do this?" 

Michael shrugged. "I think it's warranted. Hopefully Geffner's only got one black floppy disk." 

Max sighed in resignation. "All right. Meet me in the commons before homeroom tomorrow morning. I'll fill in Isabel tonight and see if Alex can be meet us then, too. I want to see what's in that damn message and get it over with as soon as possible." 

"I hear ya." Michael's face brightened a little. "Hey, when are you done with work tonight?" 

"Eight o'clock." 

"Could you give me a ride home then? I think I'll take a little nap before my outing tonight." 

"Sure. I'll meet you out front." 

"Thanks, man. See you later." Michael walked out of the exhibit room and out the front doors. 

"See ya," Max called after his friend. He turned and strode towards the theater to ask Milton for his next task, passing by the exhibit that Geffner had disregarded. Max stopped in front of the relatively bland display of yellowing supermarket tabloid articles pinned behind a large sheet of plexiglass. _Ugh, this one really needs a facelift,_ Max thought. He glanced at the exhibit's title: 

LIVING AMONG US: Is the 1971 Wisconsin Alien Still Here? 

_Wisconsin?_ Max read on. The older articles told a curious tale of the government's three-day pursuit of an alien and a local Wisconsin woman after the alien's spaceship crashed near the woman's home in 1971. A second group of clippings dated to the early 1990's. One lengthy article proclaimed that the woman, Jenny Hayden, had given birth to a half-alien child named Scott. It also alleged that the alien had assumed the identity of a photographer and was still at large. Several stories recounted the half-breed's exploits and advertised a reward for his capture. Max shuddered. He squinted at the fine print filling the rectangular holes riddling the latter group of articles: "Photos have been omitted for legal reasons. - Mgmt." 

Max entertained the possibility that even a fraction of the tabloid stories were true. _If the woman had had a son by the alien, he'd be about 27._ Max frowned. It was bad enough that he had a substitute teacher sending suspicious email messages only a few weeks after Topolsky left. _Change his last name, and the guy steps straight out of_ The National Inquirer. Max shook his head vigorously. This is too much. He dismissed the ludicrous notion. _So a twenty-something guy named Scott moved from Wisconsin to Roswell. Big deal._ Max thought of Nasedo and River Dog and Michael's disturbing illness. He smiled mirthlessly. _Stranger things have happened._

******

The moon was a thin arc of light in the night sky hovering over the trees. Scott appreciated its simple beauty through his bedroom window. He'd lie on his back in bed with the lights off, tracing the sharp edges of the silver crescent with his eyes. The tension of the past several days gradually drained from his body. His limbs felt simultaneously heavy and light. Scott recognized the odd sensations of physical relaxation and began to calm his mind as well. His eyes slowly shut. As the majority of his consciousness descended toward sleep, Scott fixed a small part of his mind on the Algeiban part of his being - a steady, stalwart beacon complimenting his changeable human half. That awareness allowed Scott to realize when he was dreaming and take advantage of his altered state of consciousness. Tonight he was determined to find Melany, no matter the distance between them. 

******

The bright circles of streetlamps dotted the sidewalk bordering the short driveway to the Saddlecreek townhouse complex. Michael strode confidently along with his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. He kept a wary eye on building four. Geffner's truck was parked in front. Most of the building's windows were dark, including those he could see of townhouse 4-A. Michael hoped that Geffner wasn't a night owl. He didn't want to wait outside in the rapidly cooling night air any longer than necessary. He noticed the stand of pecan trees behind the row of townhouses and smiled. The cover meant fewer prying eyes for him to worry about. 

In the shadows between two streetlights Michael left the sidewalk on a straight course for Geffner's small, one story apartment at the end of the building. He jogged to the front corner of the building, crouched down, and listened. The tinny sound of a neighbor's TV and the night wind whispering in the trees rose to his ears. Michael crept over to the nearer of the two windows on the side of the building. Its blinds were down but not closed. He peered through the blinds into a dark, bare room. Michael frowned in dismay. He assumed it was the living room due to its proximity to the front door. There wasn't a single stick of furniture in it. Michael's lips pressed into a thin line. _Furniture would be a pain to lug from assignment to assignment, right, Agent Geffner?_

Michael slipped over to the second window. He looked over the top of a pair of curtains into the darkened kitchen. Michael's eyes quickly passed over the stove, fridge, and sink and settled on the L-shaped counter. On the part of the counter separating the kitchen from a small, empty dining area were a few books, a stack of papers, and Geffner's nylon briefcase. _Gotcha,_ Michael thought. He noticed the door leading outside from the dining area. _Perfect. Now to make sure that the agent has retired for the evening._

Michael glanced around to make sure his snooping had gone unnoticed. He didn't see any movement, so he ducked around the corner. Five pairs of doors and windows adorned the rear of the building. Michael crept past the back door of Geffner's townhouse over to what he guessed would be the bedroom window. He knelt down and listened again. The same night noises greeted him, except the neighbor's TV was a little louder. _I wish the guy snored,_ Michael thought nervously. Now that he was certain that Geffner was a fed he was apprehensive about breaking into his home. 

Still kneeling, Michael looked up at the window. The blinds were pulled up to the top. Michael straightened quickly and peeked through the bottom corner of the window. Inside Geffner lie in bed under a light blanket. The weak light of the moon showed Geffner's eyes twitching beneath his eyelids in REM sleep. Michael shivered, but was glad that Geffner was fast asleep. He moved quietly to the back door, unlocked it with a wave of his hand, and let himself in. 

******

The dream coalesced quickly. Scott sat in the back booth of the Crashdown Cafe staring anxiously at the door. He knew someone important was about to walk through that door, but who? His mother and father? Fox? The men who'd pursued him in Madison? Scott clutched his sphere tightly in his pocket. Its smooth, cool surface reassured him ... and reminded him that he was dreaming. 

The unfolding nightmare dissolved. Scott was vaguely aware of his immediate surroundings, particularly the presence of the people in the neighboring townhouses. On a larger scale he felt the collective energies of Roswell and near-emptiness around it. Beyond that was a void containing three points: Paul, Jenny, and Melany. Paul shone like a blue star in the darkness. Jenny's yellow light glimmered nearby. He could feel that they were safe but uneasy. 

Scott concentrated on the faint yellow star that was Melany. He felt wisps of her emotions - love, concern, and frustration. The same emotions welled up in Scott. He seized that energy and used it to propel himself to her. Scott felt his consciousness extending, reaching, stretching into a trembling gossamer thread. The yellow star rushed up to him. Scott embraced it, and a hazy scene formed around him. 

Scott stood in a dimly lit room near the end of an old fashioned wrought-iron twin bed. Melany lay sleeping on her side under a thick comforter. Scott smiled ecstatically. Melany stirred and rolled on to her back. Locks of her long black hair fell in disarray on her pillow. He moved closer to her. _Melany, wake up!_ he thought. Scott felt a twinge of something far distant. He ignored it. 

Melany awoke. She struggled to a sitting position, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She smiled broadly at him. _Scott! You're all right!_ she thought jubilantly. 

_Yes, I made it to Roswell no problem. Are you okay? Are they leaving you alone?_ Scott asked. 

_I'm fine,_ she replied. _No one's come looking for me so far._

 _Thank god_ , Scott sighed in relief. _I can't believe this is happening. Does Evan or Liz have any idea who's after us?_ The twinge Scott had felt became a tug. Something was wrong. 

_No, I'm afraid not._ Melany's dark eyes radiated love and concern. _Scott, when will this be over?_

 _I don't know, Melany._ Alarm surged through Scott. He felt his focus slipping. _I have to go, I'm sorry, I love you—_

Scott's concentration splintered. His consciousness snapped back to his body violently. He lay in bed paralyzed from the dream state with his heart and mind racing. Scott focused on his breathing to calm himself. The rushing of blood in his ears dissipated and his limbs returned to his control. He heard the back door of the townhouse softly shut. 

Fear nearly consumed Scott. He beat back panic with grim determination. Scott reached under his pillow and grasped his sphere. He closed his eyes and focused on his Algeiban nature. Cool clarity washed over him. _Go see who it is. Surprise them before they surprise you._

Holding his sphere in his right hand, Scott carefully pushed back the covers, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood up. He heard a few quiet footfalls. _They're still in the kitchen,_ Scott thought. He padded silently to the open bedroom door in his T-shirt and shorts. The sound of fabric rustling carried down the hall. 

Scott peered around the doorjamb. The moon's faint light barely illuminated the room. The intruder - a tall, broad shouldered man - stood at the counter in front of Scott's briefcase. Whether this man was an FSA agent or a burglar, Scott knew he had to act. He stepped into the hallway and connected with his sphere. Pale blue light and a soft hum filled the hall and reached the short distance into the kitchen. The intruder jumped and spun around. Scott threw him up against the wall with his sphere. The air rushed out of the intruder's lungs with a whoosh. 

"Who are you?" Scott demanded. He stepped towards the intruder with the sphere glowing brightly in the palm of his hand. The right side of the man's face was pressed against the wall. Light from Scott's sphere glinted in the man's wildly staring eye. Scott noticed the intruder's spiky haircut and stopped short. _"Guerin?!"_ Scott shouted in disbelief. Anger broke through his calm Algeiban composure. Scott roughly turned the boy around with his sphere, pinning him with his back against the wall. Guerin's already wide eyes grew even bigger. 

The sight of Guerin hanging like a marionette in his nearly empty apartment made Scott laugh derisively. "You sure picked the wrong house to rob, kid." Scott strode to the counter while keeping an eye on Guerin. Scott found his keys where he'd left them. He picked up his wallet with his free hand and checked its contents. Nothing was missing. Scott's anger ebbed. 

"How— how are you doing that?" Guerin stammered. 

Scott smiled coolly. "I can do a few things that most people can't." He paused for a few moments to decide what to do with the delinquent. He had to face this kid every day in class, and calling the police was out of the question. "Since I caught you before any damage was done, I think we can both forget about this. Sound good, Mr. Guerin?" Guerin nodded vigorously. Scott set his wallet on the counter. "I thought so," Scott agreed and grasped Guerin's shoulder. Scott directed some of his energy to erase Guerin's memory of the last few minutes. He felt the current leave his hand and fizzle out. Scott gasped and pulled his hand back. The sphere dimmed and went silent. 

Guerin regained his balance. He regarded Scott with a wary and somewhat amused expression. "That usually works for you, huh?" 

Scott stared at Guerin. His mind was racing. Scott knew he couldn't handle this situation for much longer. "You've got three seconds to get out of here before I call the cops," he bluffed. To Scott's relief, Guerin backed over to the door, threw it open, and ran. 

Scott stood rooted to the spot staring at the open door. He kept remembering the sickening sensation of his carefully directed energy simply vanishing when he'd clasped Guerin's shoulder. _What the hell was that?!_ Scott thought with alarm. He'd never encountered anything similar before. Years of experimenting with his sphere had taught him that failed efforts were due to lack of concentration or his own ignorance. When Scott focused and understood what he wanted to do his otherworldly talents worked readily. His Algeiban abilities were his last line of defense. The possibility that a certain percentage of the population could simply shrug off his powers left Scott shaken. Scott prayed that none of his pursuers were part of that minority. 

Cold night air pushed into the room through the open door. Scott shivered. He crossed the few feet to the doorway with his sphere in hand and looked out. Guerin was nowhere in sight. The only motion was the delicate trembling of the leaves of the pecan trees. 

Scott shut the door on the quiet night. He moved to the counter, pulled out one of the bar stools, and sat facing the wall where he'd pinned Guerin. _That worked at least._ The thought was somewhat comforting. Scott recalled the fear and surprise in Guerin's face when he'd used his sphere to restrain him. He dismissed the notion that Guerin was an undercover agent. _So he's not a fed. He'll still remember everything,_ Scott thought nervously. _Now what?_ The answer came to him suddenly _\- do nothing. Go on as if the incident had never happened._ Scott figured that Guerin wouldn't want to be reported to the police and was probably scared to death of him now anyway. If Guerin told anyone about Scott's use of the sphere, it was Scott's word against that of a known troublemaker. Scott didn't find the solution very satisfying, but he couldn't think of a better alternative. 

A yawn interrupted Scott's thoughts. His body and mind demanded rest. Scott locked the back door again - _For what it's worth,_ he thought bitterly - and returned to bed. He gazed again at the night sky. The sliver of moon had risen out of view. A thousand stars shown down in its place. Their fitful light winked knowingly at Scott. He tucked his sphere under his pillow and looked to the sky. _Please, no more surprises for at least 24 hours,_ he petitioned the stars, the fates, or whatever entity silently watched this earthly charade. 

###    
**Chapter 2: Reception**  


Liz, Maria, and Alex sat at one of the picnic tables in the high school commons a half an hour before homeroom. Alex flipped up the screen of his laptop and booted it up. Max and Isabel joined them as the laptop hummed to life. As they waited impatiently for Michael to arrive Maria voiced the question on everyone's mind. "Did he get it?" 

"I don't know," Max replied. "We didn't hear from him." 

Michael showed up a few minutes later. He looked tired. "Here it is," Michael said quietly, producing the floppy disk from his back pocket. 

"How'd it go?" Isabel asked. 

Michael didn't quite meet Isabel's eyes. "Fine. No problem," he replied. He seemed uncharacteristically subdued. 

Alex took the disk from Michael and inserted it in the laptop's floppy drive. The others fidgeted with nervous energy as the drive clicked and whirred. Alex opened windows in rapid succession. "The three files on here are PGP keys," Alex explained. "Here goes." Alex's fingers flew over the keys. "Voila," Alex said with a self-satisfied smile. "Here's the email Geffner sent yesterday." He pointed to the beginning of the message on the screen. "He emailed 'mparsons@u-wis.edu',using the account 'shayden@u-wis.edu'." 

"Shayden? Is that a nickname or something?" Liz asked. 

"Shayden ... Hayden ... " Max's eyes grew huge and he leaned forward in his chair. "Oh my god — _Scott Hayden!'_

"Who's Scott Hayden?" Isabel asked. 

The corners of Max's mouth curled into a uncertain smile. "Scott Hayden, Sr., is a dead housepainter from Wisconsin. Scott Hayden, Jr. is his son ... sort of." 

"Max, what are you babbling about?" Michael said harshly. 

"There's an exhibit in the UFO museum," Max began. His companions eyed him doubtfully. "Wait, listen! It's about a sighting and crash of a UFO in Wisconsin in 1971. Scott Hayden, Sr. and his wife lived near the crash site. Hayden was already dead, but for three days after the crash the feds were chasing him and his wife across the country." 

"I thought the museum was for alien and UFO stories, not zombies," Alex quipped. Liz giggled. 

Max shot Alex a wry look. "No zombies, Alex. The articles say that the alien cloned Hayden Sr.'s body." 

"From what?" Liz asked. 

"I don't know, it didn't say. It gets better," Max said, looking at the others seriously. "Allegedly the alien in the cloned dead housepainter's body got Jenny Hayden pregnant during his three day stay." 

"You can't be serious," Alex deadpanned. 

"So Scott Hayden, Jr. is half alien?" Isabel asked. 

"Yes, according to a bunch of tabloid articles from 1990. They also accuse some photographer - Forest someone- of being the alien." 

"Didn't the alien leave in 1971?" Liz queried. 

"Supposedly," Max replied. 

"Maybe he came back as a different dead guy," Isabel said sarcastically.

"That's not important," Max said impatiently. "I know it sounds ridiculous, especially since most of the exhibit was supermarket tabloids. That's why I'd never paid that much attention to the exhibit before. The reason I remember so much of it now is because _Scott Geffner_ was looking at it the other day!" 

Everyone was quiet as they contemplated the consequences of the scenario. Liz broke the silence. "Well, was he staring at the exhibit or casually reading it over?" 

"Actually, he—" 

"It's true," Michael said quietly. All eyes turned to him. He sat behind the others resting his elbows on his knees. "It's the only thing that makes sense." 

"What? How does it make sense?" Max asked. 

Michael studied the ground as he spoke. "Last night didn't go 'fine'. Geffner - Hayden, whoever - caught me in his apartment. I found out what the thing in his pocket is." Michael looked up at his friends. Everyone was listening with rapt attention. "It's a little metal ball. He held it in the palm of his hand and it glowed blue-white and hummed. The next thing I knew I was pressed up against the wall, like some invisible hand was pinning me there." Michael's audience stared at him in disbelief. 

"Are you okay?" Maria exclaimed. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" 

Michael smiled at little at Maria. "No, I'm fine." He looked at his companions and smiled a little more. "I must have looked like you guys do now, times ten." The smile faded. "He didn't seem angry. More like cold, distant. Asked him something like 'How'd you do that?'. He said 'I can do a few things most people can't.' " 

"Whoa," Alex said softly. "Another alien. Well, half of one." Isabel and Max looked at each other. Liz stared into the distance. Maria looked at Michael with worried eyes. 

"There's more," Michael said. "He walked over to me while I was still up against the wall. He put his other hand on my shoulder and said, 'I think we can both forget about this.' My shoulder felt tingly for a second, but that was it. Geffner looked shocked and the metal ball stopped glowing. He told me I had three seconds to get out before he called the cops." Michael shrugged. "I ran." 

The group sat silently for nearly a minute. "Maybe he's Nasedo," Isabel said quietly. 

"I don't think so," Max said. "I mean, if he's like us, wouldn't he have recognized Michael after he touched him?" 

"That would make sense," Isabel agreed. She looked at Michael with concern. "Do you think he suspects that you're not human?" she asked in a near whisper. 

"I doubt it," Michael replied with some of his usual cockiness. "He hasn't seen me, or any of us for that matter, use our powers. He just knows that I'm different somehow 'cause his Vulcan mind meld or whatever he tried didn't work." 

"We need to talk to him," Max said. "Maybe he knows Nasedo, or at least something about him." 

"And expose ourselves? What do you plan on saying, Max?" Michael said acerbically. “’Hi, Mr. Geffner. I hear that you're an alien like me. Why don't we grab a burger at the Crashdown and talk about it? And here's my biology homework.''' 

Max glared at Michael. "You're not helping, Michael." 

"Knock it off," Isabel said curtly. "You're both right. We need to talk to him but need to figure out how much to say and if we can trust him." 

"I don't think he'll go to the police, no matter what you say," Liz mused aloud. 

"Why?" Maria asked. 

Liz looked at Michael. "'Cause he didn't call the cops on you after catching you in his house." 

"That's because I could tell them all about his magic marble," Michael explained. 

"I don't think so. It would be his word against yours, and the police don't exactly hold you in high regard," Liz reasoned. "I think he's avoiding the cops, too. Maybe he's on the run. That would explain all of the camping gear in his truck." 

"His place _was_ virtually empty," Michael commented. "He doesn't even have a TV." 

"So someone chased Geff— Hayden out of Wisconsin, and he ran here," Max said. "Why come to Roswell, the UFO capitol of America?" 

"Who knows?" Maria shrugged. She looked from Max to Isabel to Michael. "It's no more ironic than you three living here." she said. 

Isabel shot a dry look at her. "We didn't have a choice in the matter." 

"Hey, we never finished reading this email," Alex interjected. "Maybe there's something about why he's running in here." They crowded around Alex's laptop and read over his shoulder. 

**Melany,**

**I made it to Roswell without incident. Sorry it's taken me so long to email you. This is the first chance I've had to get on a computer connected to the net. I hope you're safe with Evan and Stephanie. please reply back right away so I know for sure. I think about you all the time, hoping that you're okay. I wish we could speak on the phone. I'll try again to contact you late tonight. I’m having trouble concentrating and the distance isn't helping any.**

**NO word from Mom and Dad yet. They're okay, but still a long way from here.**

**I'll keep watching and waiting. It will be easy to find Dad if he and Mom show up before the meeting time - his eyes will pop out from all of the UFO stuff saturating this town!**

**Liz's package has been a godsend. She thought of everything, even transcripts with my biochem degree. It's a good thing, 'cause I needed them to get a job. That's right, I found a decent job already. I'm teaching biology at the high school 'till the end of the marking period. Remember how I complained about Bio 101 students being apathetic? Most of these guys make college freshmen look like overachievers. It makes my life easier, though. It's a good thing I've got some money coming in - most of the money I had went into renting an apartment. I figure an apartment will be cheaper than a motel in the long run since I don't know when Mom and Dad will get here or how long we'll have to stay. I hope they arrive soon. It's torture not knowing for sure if you, Mom, and Dad are okay.**

**Roswell itself isn't bad. It seems like a normal town with a lot of UFO tourist trap junk on top. The countryside is gorgeous. The wide blue sky and rocky desert make me think of travelling with Dad, though now I'm by myself. I realized last night that this is the first time I've lived alone. Before there was Mom, then the Lockhart’s, Leland Hall for those few awful weeks, then Dad, and Mom, then you. The apartment is so empty that my voice echoes off the walls. It's worst in the morning. I wake up alone and assume that you're up already. But it's silent - no footsteps, no cabinets opening, no one shifting in the kitchen chair. Just the neighbor's dog barking once in a while.**

**Gotta run - got a class in five minutes. I love you, Melany. I'm sorry that you're involved in this mess at all. See you tonight, I hope.**

**Scott**

"That poor guy," Liz said softly. 

"What does he mean, 'See you tonight'?" Isabel asked. "This Melany is in Wisconsin, right?" 

"Melany's his wife," Maria supplied. 

"How do you know?" Alex asked. 

"His wedding ring. He was playing with it when he was in the Crashdown the other night. I asked him where his wife was. He said 'Home.'" 

Another pensive silence descended on the group. Michael laughed suddenly and ran his hand through his hair. The others regarded him curiously. "Well, at least we know he's not a fed!" 

Isabel looked earnestly at Michael and Max. "We've got to figure out what to say to him." 

"Well," Max mused aloud, "he'll probably be in the computer lab fifth period to see if Melany replied to his email. I could slip his disk back into his bag and talk to him after he's done." Max looked up for his friends' reactions. He thought they looked relieved that he was volunteering. Max smiled ironically. He was nervous about this, too. "I'll suggest that we talk outside. Would you guys kind of, uh, keep an eye on things?" Max's smile disappeared. “You all have class then, don't you?" 

"Class is irrelevant in this situation, don't you think?" Michael said simply. The others nodded in agreement. 

"We'll be there, Max," Liz said with an encouraging smile. 

The homeroom bell rang. The teens scrambled to their feet and gathered their belongings. Alex snapped his laptop closed and returned it to its case. "Alex!" Max said quietly. "I need that disk!" Alex quickly ejected Hayden's floppy disk from the laptop and handed it to Max. The group turned towards the main doors and saw Hayden sprint across the parking lot and inside the building. 

"I guess he had a rough night," Maria remarked. Michael snorted. 

******

The fifth period bell rang as Max strode to the rear of the computer lab and settled behind the computer he'd used the day before. He was glad to find that he was the only one in the room and hoped his luck would hold. Max set his books and Hayden's disk alongside the monitor and looked up at the clock. He hoped Hayden got there soon. He'd never be able to concentrate on homework, and he didn't know how many games of Minesweeper he'd be able to stand. 

Max was reviewing his plan in his mind once again when Hayden stepped through the door with his briefcase bag. He looked tired. Hayden was halfway down the center aisle between the rows of workstations before he noticed Max in the back of the room. "Hi," he said with a perfunctory smile. Max smiled back wordlessly. Hayden set his bag on the floor besides the computer he'd used yesterday and sat down. 

Max watched Hayden check his email. The computer beeped and Hayden reached down into his bag. He rummaged through the bag's compartments and frowned when he came up empty-handed. Max picked up his books and the disk and stepped over to Hayden. "Looking for this?" Max asked innocently, holding the floppy disk up in front of him. 

Hayden looked up at Max with unconcealed annoyance. His eyes settled on the disk in Max's hand and widened in surprise. "Yes, actually," Hayden replied evenly and reached for the disk. Max pulled it just out his reach. 

"We need to talk, Mr. Geffner," Max said quietly and handed him the disk. Hayden took it, his eyes never leaving Max's. "Or do you prefer 'Mr. Hayden'?" Max added. The blood drained from Hayden's face. "Read your email. I'll be out there—" Max nodded at the commons outside the computer lab windows "—when you're done." He turned and walked out of the lab, forcing himself not to look back for Hayden's reaction. 

******

Scott forced his eyes to stay on the disk he held in his hand, rather than follow Max out the door. Clearly Max and Guerin were working together. Guerin must have stolen the disk from his apartment last night and given it to Max. 

_Why are they doing this?_ Scott wondered. If Max and Guerin were G-men they had him completely fooled. Scott knew he had to talk to Max, for both damage control and to answer his own questions. _How does Max know my name? He couldn't have figured it out from the UFO museum exhibit alone._ Scott knew that his University of Wisconsin user ID could give him away, so he'd been careful to not only encrypt, but delete the email he'd sent. _Clearly Max had decrypted and read that message. How'd he get a copy of the message in the first place?_

Scott looked for Max through the window. He was sitting on top of one of the common's picnic tables facing the computer lab. _Why'd he give me the disk back, anyway?_ By returning the disk Max implicated himself in Guerin's break-in and robbery. He was gambling that Scott wouldn't report him and Guerin to the police. They'd gone to a lot of trouble to dig up information on him. _Why are they so interested in me? I only busted Guerin's chops the other day and have done nothing to offend Max._ Scott couldn't believe that Max and Guerin were simply incredibly nosy, foolhardy teenagers. He already knew that Guerin could resist some of his abilities. He nervously wondered if Max could as well. 

Scott returned his gaze to the encrypted message that Melany had sent. He inserted the floppy disk in the computer and decrypted the email with Melany's PGP key. Scott skimmed the brief message. Melany wrote that she was happy to hear from his previous message that things were going relatively well and wanted to know if everything was okay after he'd broken off so suddenly last night. Scott frowned at the screen, then glanced out the window at Max. _I don't know if everything's okay_ , he thought uneasily. 

Scott decided to reply to Melany's email later. He deleted Melany's message, emptied the recycle bin, and put his disk back in his briefcase. Scott grabbed his bag and headed for the commons. Before leaving the building he palmed his sphere, just in case. 

******

A tight knot formed in Max's stomach as Hayden approached. Max glanced surreptitiously to his left and right. Michael, Liz, and Maria lounged in the shade of a locust tree 50 feet to Max's right. Isabel and Alex sat at a table 30 feet to his left. His friends' presence reassured Max a little. 

Hayden stopped about five feet in front of Max, squinting in the bright sunlight. The color had returned to his face. "What is it you want to discuss, Max?" he asked calmly. 

"Biology," Max replied. 

"Really," Hayden said dryly. 

"Your biology, to be exact," Max said. Hayden's eyes widened a little. "Does the word 'Nasedo' mean anything to you?" Max continued. 

Hayden frowned. "It's Crow for 'stranger', I think." 

Max blinked in surprise. "Uh, it means 'visitor' in Apache." Max cocked his head and frowned at Hayden. "You speak Crow?" 

Hayden shrugged. "I've got a knack for languages." 

"That's not all you've got a knack for," Max returned. "Michael told me about last night." 

"Yeah, he broke into my apartment," Hayden countered with a hard stare. "You realize that this game of yours makes you an accessory, don't you?" 

"That's not important, not compared to what you did to Michael." _Time to lay it on the line,_ Max thought. He hopped off of the picnic table and scooped a small stone from the ground. Max held the stone in the palm of his left hand. "He said you did some pretty amazing stuff with something that looked like this." Max passed his right hand over the stone. It morphed into a small silver ball. 

Hayden's jaw dropped. He took a step backwards, staring at the metallic ball in Max's hand. "How'd you ... " Hayden began. His right hand curled into a fist. Hayden looked Max in the eye. "Who _are_ you?" he demanded. 

"I'm not from around here, like you," Max replied. "Well, half of you." 

Hayden flinched. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Okay, so you know. What do you want from me?" 

"Information. Answers. We're trying to find out if we're alone here." 

"We? You and Guerin?" Max nodded. Hayden eyed him warily for a moment. He paced a few steps and ran his hand through his hair. He turned back to Max and laughed harshly. "You're not alone. How's that for an answer?" 

Max ignored Hayden's sarcasm. He climbed up onto the picnic table and regarded Hayden thoughtfully. "The exhibit in the UFO museum - how much of it is true?" 

"Most of it," Hayden replied quietly. He studied Max briefly. "What about you? For all I know you could be a 16 year old kid who's _really_ good at sleight of hand. So where are you from?" 

Max looked away. "I don't know," he said. 

"You don't know?" 

"No. Our foster parents found us alone in the desert ten years ago. We looked like six year old humans. They took us in and raised us as their own children." Max met Hayden's eyes. "But we always knew we were different. We look human, but we're not." Max held the metal ball between his thumb and forefinger. "And we can do stuff like this." 

The expression on Hayden's face softened. He nodded at Max's metal ball. "Can I see that?" 

"Sure," Max replied, handing him the ball. 

Hayden took it with in his left hand and cradled it in his palm in front of him. He smiled ironically at Max. "Close, but no cigar." He brought his right hand level with his left and unfolded his fingers. A slightly larger silver sphere lay inside. 

Fear shivered up Max's spine. "Would you have used that on me?" Max asked hesitantly. 

"If I had to, yes." Hayden handed the false sphere back to Max and pocketed his own. 

The bell rang signaling the end of fifth period. Hayden glanced over his shoulder at the school and looked back to Max. "I've got to go," Hayden said. He fixed Max with an intense stare. "You can't tell anyone about me, Max. Neither you nor Guerin. You read that email. I'm not here on a holiday." 

"I know," Max said. Hayden smiled grimly and turned to leave. "I think the same people that are chasing you are after us. We thought you were one of them at first." 

Hayden rounded on Max. "What?" he exclaimed. "Who's after you?!" 

"The FBI," Max explained quietly. "The last guidance counselor here was an FBI agent sent to get evidence on us. It didn't work out. She left a few weeks ago." 

Hayden cursed fluently. "I can't believe this is happening," he muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. "Have you seen anyone suspicious around here lately?" Hayden demanded. 

"No one besides you," Max replied with a dry smile. 

The bell rang again. Hayden swore under his breath. "Meet me at my truck in the parking lot after school," he ordered. "It's a blue pickup with Wisconsin plates." 

"Okay," Max agreed. Hayden turned and jogged back to the school. Max watched him disappear inside, not caring that he was missing his own class. He couldn't believe his luck. He'd met not only an alien, but a guy whose life was more messed up than his own. 

A hand roughly grabbed Max's elbow. "Conference time, Max," Isabel said and hauled him towards the tree that Michael, Liz, and Maria sat beneath. The three stood staring at them. 

Alex appeared beside Isabel. He fixed Max with an incredulous look. "Did you do what I think you did?"

Max frowned at him. "Hold your questions until the Inquisition begins, okay?"

Alex snorted. They joined the others under the locust tree. Questions exploded around Max. 

"Does he know Nasedo?" 

"I can't believe you—" 

"Did he say he's Czechoslovakian?" 

"What the _hell_ was that?!" Michael demanded, waving his right hand over his upturned left palm. 

"Hold it!" Isabel shouted. Her companions quieted. "One question at a time," she said calmly. She crossed her arms and looked seriously at her brother. "Is Geffner the Scott Hayden described in the UFO exhibit?" 

"Yes." 

"He said so?" 

"Yeah." 

Isabel took a deep breath. "Is he, or does he know, Nasedo?" 

"No. I think he knows some Native Americans, though." 

"What?" Isabel shook her head in confusion. "Whatever. You used your powers in front of him, right?" 

"Yes." 

Isabel's composure crumbled. _"Why?"_

Max's gaze included Isabel and Michael. "It was the only way I could think of to get him to trust us." Michael snorted and turned away. 

Liz stepped forward. "How do you know that you can trust _him?"_

"From our conversation in the computer lab. He looked like he was going to faint after I called him 'Mr. Hayden'. He could have bolted after that, but he came out here to talk to me instead." 

Michael rounded on Max. "That's terrific, Max," he said sarcastically, "but we wouldn't need his trust if you hadn't done your little magic trick." 

Max looked squarely at Michael. "We _do,_ Michael. There are people after both us and him, and he's as scared as we are. We all need to watch out. Since Hayden's masquerading as a teacher, he might hear something about the police or feds before we do." 

"Or maybe they'll just grab him first," Maria muttered. 

"Okay, Mr. Teamwork," Michael chided. "You'd better be right, 'cause if you're not, we're _screwed!"_

"Max," Isabel interjected, "how'd he react to your little demonstration?" 

Max chucked. "Surprised, to say the least" He fished the metal ball out of his pocket and held it for the others to see. 

"Ohmigod, is that his—-" Maria began. 

"No, this is the fake I made." Max smiled a little. "Hayden's definitely curious about us. You guys saw him check this out only a few minutes after I surprised him by making it." He looked seriously at Isabel and Michael. "He wants to talk to us after school today." 

"Cool," Alex said. "Where?" 

"No," Max said, looking from Alex to Maria to Liz. "Just Isabel, Michael, and me. Hayden thinks that only Michael and I know. He doesn't want this spread around, for obvious reasons." Alex, Liz, and Maria looked disappointed and a little relieved. 

"Where?" Isabel repeated. 

Max nodded towards the parking lot. "At his truck." 

"That should be one interesting conversation," Maria commented. She sat down and slumped against the tree. The others followed suit, except Michael. He stood staring absently at the doors Hayden had disappeared through. They mused privately in silence. 

After a few minutes Liz glanced at her watch. "Only ten minutes 'till seventh period," she announced quietly. 

Maria sat up. "Don't you guys have bio then?" 

"Mm-hmm," Max affirmed. 

"Are you going?" Alex asked. 

Michael smiled shrewdly. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." 

******

White noise filled the classroom after Scott plugged the TV power cord into the wall socket. He searched the front of the television for a volume button while watching his students file into the room out of the corner of his eye. Scott flipped open a nearly invisible panel. Ten brightly colored buttons hid behind it, but none were marked "volume". Scott scowled. The static irritated his already frayed nerves. He pushed the panel closed and muted the TV with a tiny current of his own energy. Students' conversations replaced the white noise. 

"Pssst," a voice hissed to his right. Scott turned to find Guerin standing at the end of the lab table near the door. Behind him Max and Liz entered the room and headed towards their table. "Use the remote next time," Guerin said quietly. "There's no need to show off." Scott felt his face flush. Guerin smirked and took his seat. Max frowned at Guerin from the other side of the room. 

_I can't believe this,_ Scott thought to himself for the hundredth time that day. He gratefully turned back to the inanimate, unsuspecting TV and VCR and picked up the remote control. He changed the TV channel to 3, turned on the VCR, and pushed a video tape inside. 

The bell rang. Scott picked up a sheaf of papers from the lab table and faced the class. The students quieted down. "All right, everyone. Today we're watching a video that introduces concepts for the osmosis lab on Monday." A dark-skinned young man sitting at the middle table raised his hand. "Yes, Jesse?" 

"I thought we were doing the lab today and watching the video next week." 

Scott felt Max's and Guerin's eyes on him. He forced a smile. "I changed my mind." Scott strode over to the lab table near the door and passed some of the papers to the student at the head of the table. "This is a list of questions to answer from the video. Read them over before I start the tape. They're due at the end of class." Scott handed the last of the papers to the student at the end of Max's and Liz's table. Liz's hand went up. "Liz?" 

Liz stared at Scott silently. Max frowned and poked her with the eraser end of his pencil. Liz jumped in her seat and blinked. "Uh, I was wondering if we have any homework tonight." Guerin regarded Liz with unconcealed amusement. 

_It's only been 45 minutes and already someone else knows_ , Scott thought irately. _I've got to get out of here._ "No, not as long as you've done the reading for lab on Monday," Scott replied evenly. Liz smiled uncertainly. 

Scott walked back to the TV and VCR. "Any other questions?" he called over his shoulder. Hearing none, he pressed play, adjusted the volume with the remote, and moved to the light switches near the door of the classroom. He fought back the urge to bolt out the door and turned off the lights. Scott leaned against the wall, folded his arms, and glanced at the TV. The video's title sequence flashed on the screen. Scott's eyes flitted to Guerin, Max, and Liz. Liz stared absently at the TV. Max fidgeted with his pencil. Guerin gazed out the windows. Scott quickly looked back to the TV. 

Computer-generated ball-and-stick models of molecules slowly rotated on the screen. "Living organisms are complex networks of organic and inorganic compounds," the narrator intoned. "Cells, the building blocks of every living organism, are comprised of these compounds." The computer graphics were replaced by images of skin cells, neurons, and blood coursing through a thin capillary. "Cells constantly strive to maintain chemical balance, or equilibrium. Osmosis is a process that balances the concentrations of chemical species inside and outside cell walls ...." 

Scott smiled ironically. _Three sentient species coexist in this corner of the world._ Scott closed his eyes and wearily rested his head against the wall. _There's a balancing act for you._

******

Students streamed through the front doors of the high school into the hot afternoon. Isabel and Michael waited for Max off to the side of the flow of teenagers. Max and Liz emerged through the doorway. Liz gestured animatedly at a scowling Max as they approached. Liz's voice carried to Isabel's ears. "Look, I'm _really_ sorry, Max. Let me talk to him. I'll assure him that—" 

"No, Liz. You blew it," Max said angrily. He and Liz joined Michael and Isabel. Max continued quietly, "I was going to tell him about you, Maria, and Alex, but your gawking at him may have spooked him. He probably thinks that I've told his little secret to the half the school." 

Liz looked apologetically at Max, Michael, and Isabel. "I can straighten this out," she stated. 

"Forget it, Liz. You shouldn't be involved in any of this, anyway," Isabel said sternly. She looked at Max and Michael. "Let's go." The three turned away from Liz and strode into the parking lot. 

Isabel scanned the small sea of vehicles glinting in the afternoon sun. "Over there," Michael said, pointing to their left. The three changed direction and weaved through the labyrinth of cars towards Hayden's truck. 

Max caught Isabel's eye. "Isabel, Hayden doesn't know about you," Max said softly. "Do you want to keep it that way?" 

Isabel turned to her brother in surprise. "Why? He's the best chance we have to find out about ourselves." 

Max looked at her with concern. "Because people are after him, too. Things could get ugly around here. If they catch up with Hayden, they could get information about us from him." 

Isabel grimaced. "I'll take my chances." She glanced at Hayden's truck parked in the next aisle over. Hayden approached from the opposite direction with his bag on his shoulder. He rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "There he is," she commented. 

After waiting for a few cars to pass they crossed the aisle to Hayden's truck. Hayden stood in front of the open driver's side door and deposited his bag on the seat. He turned and acknowledged Max and Michael with a nod. The three stopped a few feet in front of Hayden, who fixed a hard look on Isabel. Butterflies quivered in Isabel's stomach. Hayden looked back to Max and Michael. "Who's this?" he asked tersely. 

Isabel put on her best smile. "I'm Isabel Evans. Max is my brother." 

Hayden scrutinized her with furrowed brows. "She's your foster sister?" he asked Max. 

Max smiled slightly at Isabel. "No, she's my sister." 

Hayden's eyebrows rose. He crossed his arms and turned to Isabel. "Okay. Prove it." 

"What?" Isabel said, surprised. 

"You heard me. Prove it. I'm not playing games here," Hayden said with a pointed look at Max. 

Isabel looked at Max and Michael. They shrugged. Isabel frowned and looked around for a not-too-obvious demonstration. Her eyes settled on the cassette sticking out of the car stereo in Hayden's truck. _How quaint,_ she thought. "Hand me that cassette," she said to Hayden, nodding at the cab of his truck. Hayden complied, looking at her curiously. Isabel took the cassette from Hayden and held it in front of her. She used her power to turn the tiny spools and translate the magnetic stripes on the tape into sound. R.E.M.'s "The Great Beyond" sounded in fits and spurts. "This is harder than playing a CD," she muttered, frowning. She looked up to find Hayden staring at her incredulously. She stopped the cassette. 

"What, that's not good enough?" Michael asked harshly. 

"No, that's great!" Hayden laughed. "Just had a little deja vu, that's all." Isabel, Michael, and Max frowned at him. "Nevermind," Hayden said. He regarded the three of them seriously. "How many more of you are there?" 

"One more," Max replied. 

"Nasedo?" Hayden asked. Max nodded. 

"We're looking for him," Isabel added. 

A sympathetic smile softened Hayden's face. After a moment his serious countenance returned. He looked sternly at Max. "Liz was staring at me in class today like I'd grown scales. Who else have you told?" 

"Two other people know," Max said quietly. Hayden glowered at him. "They know because they know about us," he explained, glancing at Michael and Isabel. "They were helping us figure out if you were with the FBI." 

Hayden chuckled. "That would be a switch," he said. "Who are 'they', and are they going to keep their mouths shut?" 

"You met one of them at the Crashdown, Maria Deluca." Hayden groaned. "The other's Alex Whitman," Max continued. "They won't say anything, I'm sure of it. They're as curious about you as we are." 

Hayden smiled tentatively. "I've got a few questions myself." He looked around the now half-empty parking lot. Clusters of students stood around some of the cars conversing and joking. "Where can we go to talk?" 

"The old copper mine," Michael said. Hayden looked at him blankly. "It's about 10 minutes east of here." 

"Do you have a car?" Hayden asked. Max and Isabel nodded. "I'll follow you there," Hayden suggested. 

"Okay," Max agreed. "Wait here. We'll bring the jeep over." 

Max and Michael turned to leave, but Isabel hesitated. She held the cassette out to Hayden. "Here's your tape back, Mr. Hay— uh, Geffner," she said awkwardly. 

Hayden smiled self-consciously. "Call me Scott, okay? I hate all of this cloak-and-dagger stuff." 

The warm breeze streamed through the truck's open windows and tousled Scott's dark hair. The music blaring out of the truck's speakers competed with the rush of the wind. Scott turned the volume up another notch and smiled. _This is the first time I've listened to music since I've been in Roswell,_ Scott realized. _Hell, this is the happiest I've been since leaving Madison, except for seeing Melany last night._ Scott recalled his encounter with Guerin and his smile faded. He studied the three non-human occupants of the old jeep a few car lengths ahead of him. The shadow of his truck stretched ahead on the two-lane highway and nearly touched the battered jeep. _I really don't know anything about them,_ Scott mused. _I hope they're the little lost aliens they claim to be, otherwise this could be a big mistake._ Instinct said to trust them, and it had gotten him out of sticky situations before. _Maybe Dad has encountered their kind,_ Scott wondered. _I hope he and Mom get here soon._

The jeep's left turn signal began flashing. Scott flipped his signal on and killed the music. The jeep slowed to a crawl and turned on to a dilapidated dirt road. Guerin, sitting in the back seat of the jeep, grabbed the roll bar. Scott turned off of the smooth pavement and bounced along in the cloud of dust behind the jeep. The road zigzagged up the side of a rocky hill dotted with sagebrush and juniper bushes and petered out at the top. The jeep rolled to a stop in the middle of a broad, flat area overlooking a small lake. Scott parked his truck next to the jeep and got out. He moved a few feet towards the water and surveyed the scenery. The lake occupied a giant hole scooped out of the pale rock. Its azure waters reflecting the brilliant blue of the sky above were incongruously beautiful. The ground dropped off steeply about twenty feet in front of Scott and sloped down to the water's surface. 

Max, Isabel, and Guerin stepped up beside Scott. "This was a copper mine?" Scott asked. 

"Yeah, a strip mine," Isabel replied. The strong breeze whipped her long blond hair around her face. "They hit an underground stream a few years ago and the mine flooded." 

"Oh," Scott murmured. He had no idea what to say next. The four stood in awkward silence. 

"Well, come on!" Guerin exclaimed, pacing a few steps ahead. He looked at Max and Isabel. "It's not like we find another alien every day." Guerin rounded on Scott. "Have you met anyone like us before?" 

Scott was a little taken aback. "I guess not. You seem human to me. I wouldn't know unless they did something ... weird." Scott frowned and wondered if he should voice his question. Curiosity won out. "Is this—" he gestured towards them "— what you really look like?" 

Max smiled self-consciously. "As far as we know. Our cells are different from human cells, though. That's how Liz found out about us." Scott frowned in confusion. 

"No, Maxwell, it's because you had to play hero and heal her," Guerin said harshly. Scott's eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

Max faced Guerin angrily. "Michael, we've been over this. I couldn't just let her die. Besides, Liz, Maria, and Alex have helped us. Topolsky would have been all over us if it wasn't for them. You can't deny that." 

Guerin stepped up to Max. "But Topolsky wouldn't have been looking for us if you hadn't laid a big silver handprint on Liz's stomach for the sheriff's son to see!" They glared at each other. 

"Enough!" Isabel shouted and stepped between the two. She looked sternly from Max to Guerin. "What's done is done, and we're dealing with the consequences. We've got more important things to talk about," she added, glancing at Scott. Guerin and Max backed off. 

Scott looked at Max. "You healed Liz?" he asked. Max nodded. "How'd she get hurt so badly?" 

"She was shot at the Crashdown," he replied. 

"At the Crashdown?" Scott repeated with alarm, thinking of meeting his mother and father there. "Does this happen a lot around here?"

"No, things like that are pretty rare, thankfully," Guerin scoffed with a sidelong glance at Max. "Rare enough that the shooting and Liz's miraculous recovery got the sheriff's and the FBI's attention." Guerin scrutinized Scott. "So who's snapping at your heels, and what'd you do to get their attention?" 

"I wish I knew!" Scott said, throwing up his hands in frustration. "It might be the FSA, I don't know. I didn't stop to ask the suits that tried to grab me." 

"The FSA?" Isabel asked. 

"The Federal Security Agency," Scott replied. "I hadn't heard of them either, not until two of their agents started chasing me and my dad thirteen years ago." 

"Your _dad?”_ the three asked in unison. 

"Yeah," Scott affirmed with a small smile. 

"I thought your dad went back to ... wherever in 1971," Max said. 

"He did. He couldn't stay here any longer. He would have died. After my foster parents died ...” Scott hesitated from the painful memory. "... I called him, and he came back." 

Guerin, Isabel, and Max stared enviously at Scott. He squirmed under their intense gaze. "Is he still here?" Guerin asked quietly. 

"Yes, he's with my mom right now." Renewed envy painted their faces. Scott looked away; he could identify with them too well. He watched the wind drive parallel silver ripples across the turquoise lake. After a long moment he met their eyes again. "They're on their way here. They should get here sometime in the next few days, I hope. You should talk to my dad. He's a map maker, a navigator. He may know your people." 

"Oh my god," Isabel whispered. She threw her arms around Max, hiding his face. "Finally," she sighed. 

Guerin stared distractedly at Scott. His face softened with fragile hope. Abruptly his eyes focused on Scott and narrowed skeptically. "Don't get yourselves worked up, guys," Guerin said coolly. "He might not know anything about us, if he even shows up." Isabel let go of Max. They regarded Guerin with mixed emotions. 

"He'll come," Scott said confidently. "I just don't know when exactly. We've been out of touch for a while." Scott fished his sphere out of his pocket. "I'll show you what they look like, in case you see them before I do." He held the sphere in his palm and connected with it. Guerin took a step back as it glowed and hummed to life. Max and Isabel watched with rapt attention. Scott projected a hologram of his father and mother into the space between them. His parents stood frozen as he'd last seen them at his and Melany's apartment the day before he'd fled Madison. Dad stood with his arm draped casually around Mom's shoulders. Mom curled her arm around his waist. Both wore casual clothes that complimented their trim figures: Dad's maroon henley and khakis and Mom's blousy white shirt and jeans. A few streaks of gray shot through their dark hair. Laugh lines creased their faces. His mother leaned forward slightly with her mouth open in mid-laugh while his father grinned his familiar, easy smile. Scott recalled the joke his father had unintentionally made but couldn't find the humor in it now. Melany had stood beside Scott at the time. He could almost feel her hand on his shoulder and hear her lilting laugh. Tears pricked at Scott's eyes. He blinked them back. 

Max, Isabel, and Michael stared wide-eyed at the hologram. They walked slowly around Scott and the illusion. "That's amazing," Max breathed. 

"He looks so human," Isabel said softly. 

Scott shrugged. "So do you." 

"You look more like you mom, I think," Isabel commented. "Did you dad look like that... the first time he was here?" 

Scott sighed. He silenced the sphere and the illusion evaporated. The three looked at him. "I'd rather not get into all that," he said wearily and pocketed his sphere. "It's kinda complicated. Suffice to say that he looks human and acts human. Well, most of the time," Scott said with a small smile. "He had a lot of catching up to do." 

"Where's he from?" Guerin asked suddenly. 

Scott turned to him. “Algeiba." Guerin frowned. "It's a binary star in the constellation Leo." Scott faced west and pointed just above the horizon. "It's about 125 light years that way." 

Max blinked at him. "You can tell where it is in the sky in broad daylight?" 

"Mm-hmm." 

Guerin squatted and drew with his finger in the thin layer of sand covering the bare rock. The others peered at him curiously. The four dots he'd drawn formed a flattened "V". Guerin looked up at Scott. "Do you know what this is?" 

"Is it a constellation?" 

"Could be," Guerin replied. 

Scott frowned at the four dots. "If that's an entire constellation, it's probably Aries. Does that mean anything to you?" 

Guerin sat down heavily. His foot obliterated two of the dots. "No," he muttered, gazing at the remnants of his drawing. 

Isabel looked from Max to Guerin. "We should show him the stones," she suggested. 

Guerin jumped to his feet. "What is this, extraterrestrial show and tell?" he spat. "Why bother? He doesn't know anything!" he shouted with a glare at Scott. Scott glared back defensively. Guerin turned to Max and Isabel. "He's useless except for leading his father here," he said with quiet malcontent. Guerin strode away from them down the road. 

Isabel took a few hurried steps after him. "Michael!" she called. Max frowned at Guerin's retreating back with an exasperated expression. Scott crossed his arms and impassively watched Guerin disappear around the first switchback. "Dammit, Michael!" Isabel shouted. She studied the ground as she walked back to Max and Scott. 

Max regarded Scott with an apologetic half-smile. "I was hoping he wouldn't react like that if he didn't hear what he wanted from you. Michael wants to know who we are most of all." Max looked at his sister fondly. "We're lucky. We've got foster parents who care about us. Michael's foster father keeps him around to collect the monthly check." 

Scott grimaced. He looked at the corner Guerin had disappeared around. "That's awful," he murmured. _But it explains a lot,_ he continued silently. Scott looked back to Isabel and Max. "How old are you, sixteen?" he asked. They nodded. "Only two more years, then he can legally be on his own," Scott offered. The observation sounded weak to his own ears. "Not that that helps him any now," he added quietly. 

Scott paced a few steps away and regarded the placid blue water. He recalled the isolation he'd experienced during the weeks following the deaths of his foster parents and before his father's return. Sixteen years of that would have been unbearable. Scott turned back to Max and Isabel. "It's a good thing you've got each other." They smiled in agreement. "Do your foster parents know you're different?" 

'No," Isabel said softly. "I—we want to tell them, but we're afraid that ... " 

“... that things will change," Max finished. 

Scott looked at them sympathetically. "They will," he said, "but maybe for the best. Isn't that what happened with Liz, Maria, and Alex?" 

"Yeah," Max agreed, "but things are more complicated now, especially with the FBI poking around. Their lives shouldn't get messed up because of us." 

Scott thought of his mother, Liz Baynes, and Melany and smiled ruefully. "I know what you mean." The three shared a subdued silence. The wind tugged at their hair and clothes. A train howled in the distance. 

Isabel glanced at her brother. "We should get back," she said without enthusiasm. 

"Yeah," Max agreed. He met Scott's eyes. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "You took a big chance, talking with us." 

Scott smiled. "You, too." 

Max's smile waned. "See you in biology, I guess." 

Scott shrugged. "It's the weekend. Stop by my place if you want. Guer— Michael can give you directions," he grinned. Scott's smile turned ironic. "I'd visit you, but, well, teachers don't typically hang out with students." 

"That sounds good," Isabel said, and Max nodded. They moved to their cars. 

Scott stopped at the driver's door of his truck and peered down the windy dirt road to the highway. He looked at Max and Isabel as they climbed into the jeep. "You'll pick up Michael?" 

"If we see him," Max replied. "He's probably got a ride into town already. Michael's going for the world's record in hitchhiking," he joked. 

Scott smiled cryptically. "He's got a ways to go, trust me."

###    
**Chapter 3: Contest**  


The headlights of Scott's truck threw overlapping pale circles on the front of the townhouse. Scott parked the truck a few spaces down from the door to his apartment and stifled a yawn. He'd stayed at the Crashdown much later than he'd intended. A high school garage band had set up their instruments and amplifiers in the front of the restaurant as Scott ate and waited for his parents. The band started playing as Scott got up to leave initially. 

Their alternative rock was surprisingly good, so Scott had sat back down and listened to the entire set. Liz and Maria had been working, so the band was a welcome distraction from the girls' furtive, curious glances. Liz had waited on him. Their few brief exchanges had been mindfully polite and impersonal. Scott figured he should have talked to the girls more, but he didn't have the energy to undergo another round of questions after the extraordinary day he'd survived. 

Scott climbed out of his truck into the orange pallor of the sodium streetlamps. As he strode down the sidewalk to his apartment he wondered how Melany was. Scott hoped he wasn't too worn out to visit her. After his incredible conversation with Michael, Isabel, and Max he'd returned to his apartment to change into a comfortable short-sleeved shirt and jeans and to get some sleep before going to the Crashdown. Scott was tired, but his mind wouldn't rest. Too much had happened in too short of a time. He'd spent the afternoon trying to put it all in perspective between short stretches of fitful slumber. 

Scott stopped at the front door and grasped the doorknob. Rather than bothering with his keys, he sent a tiny current of energy into the knob and unlocked the door. Scott pushed the door open and stepped into the dark room. The acrid odor of cigarette smoke filled his nostrils. Scott froze and instinctively reached into his pocket for his sphere. Two strong hands clamped on to his arms just beneath his shoulders and hauled him sideways away from the door. Scott felt his sphere slip out of his hand and heard it hit the carpeted floor with a soft thump. The door slammed shut. Scott jabbed his elbow backwards into his assailant's abdomen. Pain shot up Scott's arm — it was like hitting rock. In desperation he threw his head back violently and connected with his attacker. They both cried out in pain. Scott saw stars and the man loosened his grip. Scott wrested his arms free and lunged towards the door. Cool metal pressed against his left temple. 

Scott froze, panting. He looked at the wielder of the gun out of the corner of his eye. Horizontal stripes of sodium light slanting through the window blinds showed a stocky, dark-suited man poised to fire. Scott's arms were pulled roughly behind his back. Metal clinked behind him and handcuffs closed around his wrists. The man to his left lowered the gun. 

Movement on the far side of the room caught Scott's eye. A staccato rasp emanated from the shadows. A small flame appeared in mid-air, illuminating a man's haggard face. The man held the flame to the end of the cigarette on his lips and puffed on it. Tendrils of smoke twisted lazily upwards. The flame winked out. Scott heard the smoking man draw in a long breath. "Close the blinds," he said nonchalantly. The man behind Scott obeyed. The ceiling light turned on. 

Scott blinked in the sudden brightness. He surveyed the room with barely suppressed panic. A quick glance showed that no one else had hidden in the darkness. The man to his left and the one behind him watched Scott closely. The other man, a gaunt figure wearing a finely cut gray suit, stood on the other side of the room near the hallway. He exhaled leisurely, clearly savoring the smoke curling around him. His eyes flitted to Scott's sphere laying a few feet in front of the door. "You dropped something," he said with a knowing smile. 

Scott glared at the smoking man and looked anxiously at his sphere. He'd have to get past the man with the gun to retrieve it. Since his sphere was in view, Scott decided to connect with it from where he stood, hoping he could cause enough chaos to grab his sphere and get out in one piece. His peripheral vision caught the smoking man regarding him curiously. Scott forced himself to concentrate. Cool confidence welled up inside him. He reached out with his mind to the sphere. 

The smoking man peered down the hallway. "Come out now, son," he called. "This is what you've been waiting for." Light footsteps carried down the hall. Scott's focus wavered. _Ignore it,_ he told himself. A slight figure stepped into the light. Scott looked despite himself. His concentration shattered. 

Scott stared at a gangly dark-haired, dark-eyed fourteen year old boy wearing a black T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers — at himself thirteen years ago. Scott gasped. The boy met Scott's eyes with a combination of curiosity and wonder. 

"By the door," the smoking man said quietly. The boy's eyes latched on to the sphere. He looked questioningly at the smoking man, who nodded. The boy strode purposefully to the sphere, knelt down, and picked it up. He stared wide-eyed at the silver ball cradled in his hands. 

"No!” Scott shouted. He rushed towards his younger self and was promptly restrained by the two suits. He thrashed and twisted until the man with the gun punched him squarely in the stomach. Scott doubled over with a moan. 

"Don't hurt him!" an adolescent voice said. Scott lifted his head. The boy stood regarding Scott with concern. The smoking man stood behind the boy with his hand on his shoulder. 

"He'll be fine," the smoking man assured the boy. He looked at Scott seriously. "We just don't want him to do anything he'd regret." He looked back to the boy and smiled. "Go, see what you can do." The boy smiled gratefully and closed his hand around the sphere. With a final wondering glance at Scott he disappeared down the hall. 

Scott stared after the boy down the dark hallway. "What. .. who ... ?" he stammered. Scott gritted his teeth and straightened slowly. His stomach twinged painfully. He gathered what little composure he could muster and addressed the smoking man. "Who the hell are you people, and what do you want from me?" 

The corners of the smoking man's mouth curled into an amused smile. "You're not in a position to be asking questions, Mr. Hayden." He took a drag on his cigarette. "I'll answer some of them later. For now we've got work to do." Scott frowned at him. _Work to do?_ he thought skeptically. 

The smoking man looked at the two suits and nodded towards the hallway. The man behind Scott pushed him towards the hall. "Move," he grumbled. Scott obeyed. 

A brief cry of frustration carried from the back of the apartment. The boy burst into the room, nearly colliding into Scott. He scowled briefly at Scott, strode over to the smoking man, and held the sphere up in front of him. "Are you sure this is the real thing?" the boy asked earnestly. 

The smoking man's brows furrowed. He glanced at Scott. "Search him," he ordered. The thug to Scott's left holstered his gun and patted Scott down. He pulled a set of keys, a wallet, and some loose change from Scott's pockets and handed them to the smoking man. The smoking man deposited the items in a pocket inside his suit coat. He looked at the sphere in the boy's hand. "That's it," the smoking man said quietly. The boy's face fell. The smoking man laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. He smiled consolingly. "You're all excited now. Try it again later." 

The boy smiled tentatively. "Okay." He pocketed the sphere. 

The smoking man glanced at the guards. "Let's go," he said, and switched off the light. The group moved down the dark hallway into the kitchen. The smoking man strode to the back door with the boy on his heels and opened the door a crack. He turned to Scott. "Cooperate with us, Mr. Hayden, and I think you'll find this excursion rather interesting." 

Scott followed the smoking man, the boy, and the suit with the gun outside into the cool night. The other thug stayed close behind him. They started across the brief expanse of lawn towards the stand of pecan trees. Scott touched his fingertips to the handcuffs and mentally examined the locks that secured them. They were simple mechanisms that he could easily unlock. Scott knew that if he was going to make a break for it, now was the time. He weighed his options. If he ran now, he'd leave his sphere behind - assuming that he wasn't shot and recaptured in the process. Scott peered at the silhouettes of the smoking man and the boy walking side by side ahead of him. It was clear that the kid looked up to the smoking man. He considered what the kid could do with the sphere if he worked for these people. Scott reluctantly decided to, as the smoking man had put it, "cooperate". 

The group entered the pecan grove. Leaves crunched under their feet, interrupting the whispering of the trees around them. Scott unlocked his handcuffs but left them on his wrists. _At least I have this much of an advantage,_ he thought. He resigned himself to watching for an opportunity to retrieve his sphere and escape. _And then what?_ he thought wearily. _Keep running and hiding? They found me across the country in a week. I'm not dealing with an underfunded Fox and Wylie here. They might have Mom and Dad already,_ he worried. Scott felt his composure slipping. He forced himself to focus on his current predicament. 

After a few minutes they emerged into a pasture that stretched to the east and south. A black sedan was parked under the trees bordering the field a hundred feet to the north. A few cars sped along the road a quarter mile further north. The group proceeded single file to the car. The smoking man and the boy climbed into the front passenger side while the thug with the gun got behind the wheel. The suit behind Scott took hold of his arm and directed him to the passenger side rear door. The suit opened the door with his free hand. "Get in," he ordered. Scott crouched and climbed in. "Move over," the thug grumbled. Scott slid across the smooth leather seat, wondering if these guys could manage more than two words at a time. The suit lowered himself into the seat and closed the door. 

The sedan's engine rumbled to life. Scott settled into the seat as best he could with his hands secured behind him. The suit behind the wheel turned the sedan in a slow arc into the field. The car rocked and bounced over the uneven ground parallel to the line of trees to the road. The car's headlights flashed on just before turning onto the pavement. Scott paid close attention to their route as they drove east into Roswell. 

******

The four points of light that humans call Aries shone fitfully in the clear night sky. Michael traced the V-shaped constellation with his eyes as he lay on his back on top of his trailer. _How they get a ram out of that is beyond me,_ he thought. Michael peered at each of the four stars in turn. _Which one is home?_ he wondered. His mouth twisted scornfully. _Does it matter? I'd still be sitting here on top of this stupid trailer with no way of getting there._

Michael thought enviously of Hayden and his father. He wondered if the alien really was on his way to Roswell. Despite his best efforts, Michael had gotten his hopes up. He desperately hoped that the alien had answers to his myriad of questions. Michael searched the sky for the alien's star in the sickle of Leo but couldn't find it. _I guess it set already,_ he supposed. He imagined Leo and Aries circling the earth in opposite sides of the sky, alternately hiding behind the planet's bulk. Aries had meant nothing to Michael until he, Max, Isabel, Liz, and Maria had found the map on the wall of the cave. Hayden, however, seemed to know where his star was even in daylight. Michael wondered if Hayden had stared at the sky before his father had returned, without knowing why. He was half human. Had he felt isolated from those around him all of his life? If so, how had he coped with it alone for so long? Hayden said that he and his father had been chased by the government. How had they survived? 

Michael sat up suddenly and hopped from the trailer's roof to the ground. He couldn't deny it - he felt a strange kinship with Hayden. He cut east through the trailer park towards Hayden's townhouse, thankful that it was only a mile away. Michael wasn't sure what he'd say to Hayden when he got there. Part of him wanted to make amends for his harsh words that afternoon. Another part sought advice for predicaments he was afraid he'd face in the near future. Yet another simply wanted companionship. Michael strode east purposefully. He had a few minutes to think of something. 

******

The red and white striped barriers of two railroad crossing signals pointed resolutely upwards at the starry sky. The sedan slowed as it traversed the crossing and turned right on to the unpaved road paralleling the railroad tracks. Scott remembered the railroad crossing from his drive into Roswell four days ago. They were about 20 minutes northeast of town. He peered through the windshield. The railroad tracks ran straight across the flat desert to the northeast. 

After a few minutes the sedan's headlights illuminated a switch on the left side of the railroad tracks. An alternate set of tracks branched off to the north. The weak moonlight showed an engine and four pale box cars a half mile down the alternate branch. The sedan turned left, following the alternate tracks. The box cars loomed larger as they approached. 

The sedan slowed to a stop alongside the third box car. Scott peered at the cars through the window for any distinguishing characteristics. There were none. Each was painted a flat, pristine white. 

"Put the car away," the smoking man told the driver, who nodded. The smoking man and the thug seated beside Scott opened their doors and climbed out. The boy and Scott followed after them. The sedan made a U-turn and pulled up behind the last box car. Scott watched the driver get out and pull two ramps from the back of the box car to the ground. The suit hurried back to the sedan and got behind the wheel. Scott heard a muffled mechanical grinding. The sedan drove up the ramps and disappeared into the box car. 

The smoking man strode to the rear of the third car with the boy on his heels. Scott followed before the suit guarding him had a chance to shove him. They climbed a short metal ladder onto a square platform over the box cars' connecting link. Metal doors with softly glowing keypads mounted above their handles lead into each car. The smoking man turned to the door leading into the rear of the third box car, rapidly punched the keypad's buttons, and pushed open the door. Fluorescent light spilled outside. The smoking man and the boy stepped into the brightness. 

The antiseptic odor of a medical laboratory wafted through the doorway. Horrific memories of the lab at Peagrum Air Force Base flashed in Scott's mind, immobilizing him. The thug behind Scott gripped him by his shoulders and moved him inside. _Why didn't I run when I had the chance?_ Scott chastised himself. _Let the kid have the damn sphere!_

Scott blinked in the harsh light and looked around frantically. Stainless steel cabinets and countertops lined most of the two side walls. The countertops were bare except for a binocular microscope, a small refrigerator, a laptop computer, a compact printer, and an empty drain rack next to the sink. A gray vinyl-cushioned chair sat about five feet ahead of Scott at the end of the left-hand counter. A cot with a neatly folded olive drab blanket was pushed against the opposite wall. A door identical to the one they'd entered through was set into the far wall. _No lab table, no glass coffin,_ Scott thought with a little relief. _For now at least._

The smoking man glanced at his wristwatch. "It's late," he remarked. He nodded at the cot and regarded Scott neutrally. "Get some sleep, Mr. Hayden. Mr. Wallace will keep you company. We'll begin in the morning." He looked at Wallace. "Secure him to the cot." The smoking man then turned to the boy. "Come on, Scotty, time for bed." Scott winced at the name. The smoking man and Scotty crossed to the door on the other end of the box car. Scotty looked over his shoulder at his namesake as the door closed behind him. 

Wallace directed Scott to the cot. He held Scott's forearm with one hand and pulled a keychain from his pocket with the other. Scott swore silently. He quickly touched the handcuffs with his fingertips and locked them. Wallace unlocked the cuff on Scott's left hand and returned his keys to his pocket. "Sit down," he ordered. Scott obeyed. Wallace closed the free cuff around the outside leg of the cot. He turned his back on Scott, moved to the chair against the opposite wall, and sat down. Wallace crossed his arms and stared idly in Scott's direction. 

_It's gonna be a long night,_ Scott thought morosely. He folded the blanket over and set it at the end of the cot where his right hand was shackled. Scott reluctantly stretched out on the cot with his right hand near his head, using the folded blanket as a pillow. He reached his free left hand to his right, rubbed his handcuffed wrist, and unlocked the handcuffs again with a touch. If Wallace noticed anything, he didn't react. Wallace was so still that Scott wondered if he were sleeping with his eyes open. 

Scott turned his eyes to the drop-down ceiling. He noticed a small hole in each of the textured panels in the corners of the room. _Your visit may be recorded for quality assurance,_ Scott thought bitterly. _Even if Tweedledee here dozes off, there's probably a Tweedledum watching somewhere else._ Anger, fear, and frustration warred inside Scott. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, but his mind reeled from the events of the day. Roswell, this supposed place of refuge, had become a living nightmare. Scott longed for his sphere so he could escape and run as far from this patch of desert as he could. 

The thought of his sphere brought the image of Scotty kneeling and cradling his sphere to his mind's eye. Scott shuddered as he recalled the younger version of himself. _He must be a clone. That's the only logical explanation,_ Scott reasoned. He thought of the sheep and pigs that scientists had, to the best of his knowledge, only recently successfully cloned. _They must have perfected the technology for humans thirteen years ago!_ Scott marveled. He grimaced as he realized where they'd gotten the genetic material to work with: Peagrum Air Force Base. _If they can clone humans, I don't want to know what else they're capable of._ Scott stopped his nervous fidgeting and smoothed his face. _May as well look like I'm sleeping,_ he reasoned. _Maybe it'll help me get out of here._

******

Michael shrugged off a slight sense of deja vu as he strode down the sidewalk to Hayden's townhouse. _Guess I should use the front door this time,_ he thought with a grin. Michael spotted Hayden's truck in the parking lot. Its blue paint looked black in the orange light of the sodium lamps. 

He stepped up to the front door. The apartment was quiet and the blinds were shut. _I hope he's awake,_ Michael thought and rang the doorbell. A muffled chime carried outside. Michael fidgeted with the change in his pocket and waited. No one came to the door. On impulse, Michael tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. Michael frowned suspiciously. He opened the door a few inches and looked in. The empty living room was dark and still. The faint odor of cigarette smoke wafted outside. 

Michael's stomach twisted into a tight knot. He looked over his shoulder. No one was visible in the parking lot or around the neighboring buildings. Michael slipped inside Hayden's apartment and shut the door behind him. A series of images flashed in Michael's mind: Hayden struggling with a man who held him from behind; a stocky, dark-suited man aiming a semi-automatic handgun; an older man's face illuminated by the flame of a cigarette lighter. Michael collapsed against the door, panting. Jesus, they've got him, he thought frantically. His eyes darted around the dark room. Michael guessed that they were gone since no one had come to investigate the noise he'd made. He crept quietly to the hallway and listened, just in case. Silence. Michael checked the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen and found no one. His heartbeat slowed to normal. 

Michael paced around the dim kitchen with his mind racing. _They captured Scott. Did they get his father? Are they looking for us?_ He ran his hand through his hair and looked at the back door. _Where did they go? Even if I knew, what can I do about it? Give Sheriff Valenti a call?_ Michael snorted at the notion. He pulled one of the bar stools out from under the counter and sat down to think. _I've got to tell Max and Isabel. Can't use the phone here. I'll hitch a ride into town— wait._ Michael smiled bitterly. _Scott won't be using his truck anytime soon. If this isn't an emergency, I don't know what is._ Michael stood, moved to the front of the apartment, and left through the front door. 

Michael strode over to Scott's truck. He stopped at the driver's side door and lifted the handle. It was locked as he'd expected. Michael waved his hand over the lock, opened the door, and climbed in. He shut the door and looked at the ignition. _I've never tried this before,_ he thought uncertainly. Michael touched the ignition with his fingertips and concentrated. After a few false starts the engine turned over. Michael grinned. He switched the lights on, drove through the parking lot, and turned on to the main road towards the center of town. Michael enjoyed watching the familiar sights stream by from the driver's seat, instead of the back of Max's and Isabel's jeep or a stranger's car. _I could get used to this,_ he thought. Then Michael remembered whose truck he was "borrowing". He wondered if Scott was in one of the buildings he passed, or if he was even in Roswell. His smile faded. 

Michael turned the truck on to a side street. He wove his way through the suburban neighborhood towards the Evans' house and looked for Max's and Isabel's jeep in the driveway. Only their parents' cars were there. Michael shrugged. He knew of a few other places they might be. He decided to try the Crashdown first. 

******

"I can't believe he said that!" Maria cried. Max, Isabel, Liz, and Alex frowned at her, along with some of the nearby customers in the Crashdown Cafe. The restaurant was half full, which was on the slow side for 11:00 on a Friday night. Isabel and Max sat in a booth towards the back of the cafe with their backs to the door. Alex sat opposite them. Liz and Maria stopped at their booth when they weren't serving customers. They'd been hearing a deliberately undetailed recap of the afternoon's events in bits and pieces for the last half hour. "Then what?" Maria demanded. 

"Michael stalked away," Max replied. "Scott was kinda ticked off, but I think he understands about how things are with Michael's foster dad." 

"So ... " Liz said hesitantly, "Scott's okay with us—" she nodded at Maria and Alex "— knowing?" 

"Mm-hmm. Just keep it to yourselves," Max said. The bells tied to the cafe's front door jingled. Maria and Liz turned to see if a new customer had entered. Their faces hardened. Alex, Isabel, and Max looked to the door as well. Michael wove around tables towards them. He stopped next to Maria besides the booth. 

"If it isn't Mr. Congeniality," Isabel said sardonically. 

Michael scowled at her. "We've got a problem," he said seriously. 

"Yeah — you," Maria muttered. 

"Shut up," Michael snapped. He looked worriedly at Max and Isabel. "This is serious. They've got Scott." 

_"What?!"_ the others exclaimed. 

"Who does?" Max asked anxiously. "Did you see them?" 

"No," Michael replied. He nodded at Alex, who slid down the bench towards the wall. Michael sat down beside him. "I went over to Scott's apartment half an hour ago," Michael explained in a low voice. "His truck was in the parking lot but he didn't answer the door. It was unlocked, so I got suspicious and went inside." 

"Michael!" Isabel hissed, "What if they had still been there?" 

"Yeah, well, they weren't," Michael said dismissively. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I had a vision. There had been at least three people there - two stocky guys in suits and an older man smoking a cigarette. One of the suits held Scott. The other had a gun. I think I got there not too long after they'd left since the place still stank of cigarette smoke." 

Max scrubbed his hands over his face. Isabel stared blankly ahead. "Yeah, Scott left here about an hour ago," Liz said quietly. "Do you have any idea where they went?" 

"No," Michael admitted. "Even if I did, what would we do? Call in the good sheriff?" An uneasy silence descended on the group. 

"What if...” Maria began in a tiny voice. She looked from Isabel to Max to Michael. "What if they're looking for you, too?" 

"They might not be," Alex reasoned. "These people were after Scott before he got here." 

Isabel smiled ruefully at Alex. "I hope you're right." She regarded Michael and Max soberly. "Maybe we should leave town for a few days." 

"No!" Michael whispered harshly. "We have to tell Scott's father when he gets here—" 

"When?" Isabel mocked, keeping her voice low. "Michael, you said yourself not to get our hopes up! Scott could be miles from here already. Do you want to stick around so they can use us as lab rats, too?" She and Michael glared at each other. "Max, help me out here," Isabel said. She glanced at her brother. He stared at the table with an unreadable expression. 

Liz laid a hand on his shoulder. "Max?" she said softly. 

Max rounded on Liz. "I don't know!" he shouted. The other customers' chatter halted abruptly. Max returned his gaze to the tabletop, chagrined. The conversations gradually resumed. "I don't know what to do," he continued quietly. 

Alex looked pointedly at Liz and Maria. "You know, I could really go for a piece of Men-in-Blackberry pie. I'll just go to the counter and get it. Lemme out, Michael." Michael slid out of the booth and Alex climbed out. He glanced at Max, Michael, and Isabel. "You guys want any?" 

"No, thanks," Isabel replied with a small smile. Alex, Maria, and Liz retreated to the far end of the counter. Their friends quietly debated what direction to take next. 

******

Mental and emotional exhaustion gradually overcame Scott. Despite his efforts to remain alert, he lay on the cot drifting in the dusky space between sleep and consciousness. A soft beep from the far end of the box car startled him fully awake. He heard the door swing open. Wallace sat up in his chair and looked at the far end of the room. Scott propped himself up on his right elbow and peered around the end of the counter. Scotty, wearing gray sweatpants and the same black T-shirt, pushed the door shut behind him. He nodded at Wallace, who settled back into his chair. Scotty strode over to Scott and sat cross-legged on the floor a few feet in front of him. He frowned briefly at the handcuffs tethering Scott to the cot. "Are you okay?" he asked with a tentative smile. 

The sight of his fourteen year old self sitting casually before him was unnerving. "I've been better," Scott replied. 

"They didn't hurt you, did they?" 

Scott's bruised abdomen and the bump on the back of his head continued to ache dully. "I'll live," he shrugged. His dry tongue and throat scratched when he spoke. "I could use some water, though." 

"Okay," Scotty agreed and stood up. He moved to the counter on the near side of the room and opened the cabinet above the sink. Glass clinked as he rummaged inside. 

"Use something plastic," Wallace interjected. 

Scotty frowned over his shoulder at Wallace and pulled a plastic beaker from the cabinet. He filled the beaker three-quarters full with tap water and walked back to Scott. Scott sat up and scrutinized his younger twin as he approached. Judging from the way his clothes hung on him, the boy was very thin - skinnier than Scott remembered himself at fourteen. Scotty handed him the beaker. Scott accepted it wordlessly. He sipped the tepid water as Scotty sat down in front of him again. 

"I couldn't sleep," Scotty said. He looked up at Scott with wide eyes. "I can't believe you're here — I've wanted to meet you for so long." 

"What do you want from me?" Scott asked tersely. 

Scotty held his arms up defensively. "Hey, don't give me an attitude. I had nothing to do with this," Scotty said, gesturing at the handcuffs. "Spender told me that this might get ugly, but I couldn't pass up this chance to meet you." 

"Or to steal my sphere," Scott growled. 

Scotty's eyes narrowed. "Look, you don't understand," he said with quiet anger. "You've got your wife, your parents, and your comfortable suburban life to go back to—" 

_Go back to?_ Scott thought incredulously. 

"— but I've got no one. No parents, and no family since my brothers died." 

"Your brothers?!" Scott exclaimed. 

"Yeah," the boy spat. He stood and looked down at Scott accusingly. "Thanks to your screwed-up half-alien genes the four of us were stuck with ridiculously fast metabolisms and so much phosphorous in our blood that, as one of the doctors put it, we should be glowing. Hyperphosphatemia weakened my brothers' bones and destroyed their kidneys. I'm still here because the doctors finally figured out the right combination of vitamin D and calcium supplements to keep my blood chemistry somewhere close to normal." Scott stared at him aghast. 

The boy crossed his arms and regarded Scott quizzically. "So how is it that you're 27 and perfectly healthy and I'm headed for a dialysis machine in a few years?" Scott looked back silently. The boy paced a few steps away, then turned and faced Scott. "It's gotta have something to do with this," he said, pulling Scott's sphere from his pocket. "And I'm going to figure it out." Scotty concentrated on the silver ball in the palm of his hand. 

Scott stared at his sphere in the boy's hand only a few feet away. Part of his mind raced to figure out how to escape, while the remainder puzzled over why the boy was so sick. __

_— Short out the cameras, knock the guard out—  
— The phosphorous is for ATP to transfer energy to cells —  
— get my sphere back, break the door open, and run —  
— Could they have screwed up the cloning process so he has even more phosphorus in his blood than I do?— But what about Scotty? Just leave him here?_ Scott looked at his twin, whose features were furrowed with concentration. He wavered in indecision. 

"Aargh!" Scotty closed his fist around the silent sphere and threw his head back in frustration. He looked at Scott with an intensity born from desperation. "How do you make this thing _work?!"_ he cried. 

Scott regarded the boy thoughtfully, then glanced at the guard. Wallace watched them impassively. Scott looked back to his younger twin. _As long as he's here with my sphere, I can still escape,_ Scott told himself. "You've got to calm down, otherwise nothing's going to happen," he began. Scotty smiled at him gratefully. Scott nodded at the space next to him on the cot. "Sit down over here," he continued. 

"No," Wallace's bass cut in. He sat forward in his seat. "You stay over there, boy," he warned Scotty. "Mr. Spender made it clear that that thing is to stay out of his reach." Scotty scowled at Wallace but stayed where he was. He sank to the floor, crossed his legs, and looked hopefully at Scott. 

Scott gathered his Algeiban composure. He needed to be ready to use the sphere if an opportunity for escape presented itself. For now he'd try to help the boy. 

******

Single-story buildings and billboards advertising eateries and tourist attractions dotted either side of the dark highway leading to Roswell. Paul and Jenny shared a comfortable silence as they drove south through the outskirts of town. The lights and multi-story structures of downtown Roswell grew larger as they approached. 

"This place has changed a lot since I was here last," Jenny commented. Her fingers tapped restlessly on her knee. Paul glanced at her and smiled. She was doing her best to contain her nervous energy. 

The neon sign of a motel became legible as the uninspired brick building drew near. "How about this place?" Paul asked. 

"Let's try and find something closer to the center of town," Jenny suggested. 

"All right." Paul reached for Jenny's hand while keeping his eyes on the road. "Scott's okay," he assured her. He squeezed her hand gently. "I'd know if he were hurt." 

"I know," Jenny sighed. She smiled slightly. "I'll just feel better when we see him." 

_Me, too,_ Paul thought. He felt uneasy as well but wasn't sure why. Paul resisted the urge to check on Scott with his sphere. Without it he would only know if Scott was badly injured or in a great deal of pain. Paul hoped that his disquiet was nothing more than paternal concern. 

The scrub flats bordering the highway were soon replaced by trailer parks, apartment buildings, and suburban houses. Paul and Jenny drove past two more hotels. Shortly afterwards the speed limit lowered and the road narrowed. Three and four story storefronts were illuminated by streetlamps. They stopped at the first of a series of traffic lights. 

Paul peered out the window at downtown Roswell while they waited for the light to change. Parked cars lined the street and groups of people strolled down the sidewalks. "Are there any hotels downtown?" Paul asked. 

"Not that I remember," Jenny replied. 

The light turned green. They continued south down Main Street. Jenny pointed to the right. "There's Tony's pizzeria." The green, red, and white sign above the storefront read "The Pizza Pan". "Well, it used to be Tony's," Jenny shrugged. "The Crashdown Cafe should be ahead on the left." 

Paul looked down the left side of the street. Blinking red and white lights caught his eye. A few hundred feet ahead a miniature silver UFO protruded from the front of a two-story brick building. Red neon lines striped the top of the saucer. Tiny white lights spelled "CRASHDOWN CAFE" around its edge. "You mean the one with the flying saucer sticking out of the front of the building?" Paul asked with mock innocence. 

Jenny laughed. "Yeah, that makes it hard to miss, huh?" They chuckled over the gaudy display as they approached. "It's too bad we didn't get here a few hours ago. We could've met Scott." Jenny sat forward suddenly. "Wait, slow down!" she exclaimed. Jenny pointed at the small parking lot alongside the restaurant. "That's Scott's truck! He's still there!" Paul stomped on the brakes and turned into the parking lot. He pulled their Jeep Cherokee into one of the few open parking spaces in the back of the lot. They hopped out and strode to the cafe's front door hand in hand. 

Paul and Jenny stopped just inside the cafe and looked around. The inside of the restaurant was as garish as the outside. Teal, red, and silver dominated the interior. Dolls and posters of spindly gray aliens with buggy black eyes and bulbous heads adorned the walls. Paul spotted a jar containing a tiny alien fetus suspended in lime green goo and grimaced. 

The bells on the door jingled as it swung shut behind Jenny and Paul. The two young waitresses standing at the counter beside a lanky, dark-haired teenager looked up at them. Paul grinned at the silver alien head aprons they wore over aqua uniforms. The girls returned perfunctory smiles and resumed their conversation. 

Jenny nodded at the customers occupying about half of the tables and booths. "I guess they don't come here for the service," she said over the customers' chatter. She peered around the restaurant and nodded towards the far wall. "Back there," she said eagerly. Paul followed Jenny's line of sight to a booth at the back of the room. Scott sat with his back to them beside a woman with long blond hair. A young man with spiky brown hair sat on the opposite side. "Looks like he made some new friends," Paul commented. 

Paul and Jenny skirted around tables and moved to the back booth. "Scott!" Paul called, clapping his hand on his son's shoulder. The touch conveyed a confusing jumble of energies instead of Scott's familiar resonance. Paul yanked his hand back as the young man and his companions wheeled around. The annoyance on their faces became shocked surprise. They stared open-mouthed at Paul and Jenny. 

Jenny turned to Paul, who looked askance at the dark-haired young man. She looked back at the teenagers. They continued to goggle at her and Paul. "I'm sorry," Jenny said hurriedly. "We mistook you for someone else." She took hold of Paul's arm and started for the front of the store. 

"N-no, wait!" the teen with the spiky hair stammered. He slid out of the booth and stood up. "Scott's in trouble," he said anxiously. His friends slid out of the booth and stood beside him. 

Jenny scrutinized them with narrowed eyes. "Very funny, guys. Try your pranks on someone else," she said disparagingly. She turned to Paul. "Let's go." 

"It's true!" the young woman said. She met Jenny's eyes earnestly. "You're Scott's mother, Jenny Hayden," she said quietly. She turned to Paul. "And you're his father, though I don't know your name. Scott showed us what you look like." 

Paul's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Where is Scott?" he asked warily. Paul noticed the dark-haired young man nodding vigorously at someone behind him. 

"Ah, excuse me, but would you all please take this outside?" said a female voice behind Paul. He turned and found the blond waitress standing a few feet away with her hands on her hips. "You're disrupting business," she stated curtly and herded Max, Isabel, and Michael and the bewildered Paul and Jenny out the front door. 

They stood in awkward silence on the empty sidewalk. Jenny regarded the three teenagers with a combination of annoyance and trepidation. "Where's Scott?" she demanded. 

"We don't know," the dark-haired young man admitted reluctantly. Several customers left the cafe. The group moved a few steps away from the door. 

"We thought Scott was here since his truck is in the parking lot." Paul said, pointing at Scott's truck. The blond and dark-haired teens frowned at it. The other teenager looked down and shifted his weight. 

"Uh, yeah," the spiky-haired young man said awkwardly, "I kinda borrowed it." His friends looked at him with exasperation. 

"Michael ...” the dark-haired young man said wearily. 

"It's not like Scott's using it!" Michael countered defensively. He turned to Paul and Jenny. "Look. We know that the feds are after you and Scott," he stated bluntly. "When I went over to Scott's place a little while ago he wasn't there. They've got him. I came here so we could figure out what to do." He shook his head incredulously. "We were hoping to find you when you got into town, but you found us first!" 

Paul and Jenny regarded the teenagers skeptically. _Why did Scott tell them so much?_ Paul wondered. He remembered the strange sensation he'd felt when he'd touched the dark-haired boy's shoulder. Paul turned to Michael. "How do you know that 'they' have Scott?" 

Michael met Paul's eyes. "Because we've got more in common than you know." He held out his hand. Paul looked at him curiously and took it. Some of what Paul felt was recognizable, like the boy's warring curiosity and fear. The rest, including his physiology, was unfamiliar. Paul released Michael's hand and smiled. 

Jenny looked from Paul to Michael and back. "Paul, what's going on?" she asked with a hint of alarm. 

"Scott has been making friends," Paul replied vaguely. He looked at Michael's companions. "Are you two like him?" They nodded solemnly. Paul looked back to Jenny. "They're not human," he said quietly. 

Jenny frowned at the three in disbelief. "Oh, come on! They look like ordinary teenagers." 

"And this is hard for you to accept?" the blond interjected. 

"In Roswell it is!" Jenny shot back. She rounded on Michael. "Well, whoever you are, how do you know that Scott's been captured? From what I've heard Scott wasn't home so you stole his truck!" 

Michael drew himself up defensively and regarded Jenny coolly. "I saw images of what happened inside Scott's apartment," Michael explained. "Three men dressed in suits kidnapped him. It couldn't have been more than two hours ago." Jenny looked doubtfully at Michael. 

"All three of us have had visions," the dark-haired young man said quietly. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but it's the truth." 

"Where'd they take him?" Jenny asked in a tense voice. A few more customers trickled out of the restaurant. 

"I don't know," Michael replied. "I just saw them in the apartment." 

Jenny drew in a shuddering breath. Paul put his arm around her. "I'll find him with my sphere, Jenny. We'll get him back." Silently he wondered how far Scott's captors had traveled. _Even if it was only two hours ago, they could be hundreds of miles away by now._ Jenny leaned against him. Paul put on what he hoped was an encouraging smile. 

The cafe door swung open with a jingle of bells. A group of thirty-something customers stepped outside and headed down the sidewalk. The dark-haired waitress held the door open after the last customer. "Yes, thanks, you too. Good night!" she called after them. She turned to Paul, Jenny, Michael, Isabel, and Max. "Closing time," she said with an uncertain smile. She shivered. "It's cold out here. Come inside if you want." Her gaze lingered on the dark-haired young man for a moment, then she ducked back inside. 

"She's in on all of this, too?" Jenny asked. 

"Yeah, her — Liz — and Maria, the other waitress. Oh, and Alex, too," the blond explained. 

Jenny frowned. "Did Scott hold a press conference or something?" she muttered. 

The dark-haired young man regarded her sympathetically. "It's okay. They're friends of ours." 

Paul smiled. "I'm glad you're friends of Scott's." They looked at each other for a moment. Paul nodded at the cafe door. "Let's go inside. I need to look for Scott, and I don't want to do it out here." He strode to the door and held it open. 

Jenny went inside. The spiky-haired young man followed behind her. He stopped short in front of Paul and looked at him curiously. "Uh, what should we call you?" he asked. Jenny stopped and looked back curiously. 

"My name's Paul," he smiled. "You're Michael?" Michael nodded. Paul looked questioningly at the other two teenagers. 

"Max." 

"lsabel." 

Paul motioned them inside with a grin. "It's good to meet you." 

******

"Think about what you want it to do," Scott repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. "Picture it happening in your mind." 

Scotty frowned at the sphere in his hand. "I am!" he protested. 

"You can do it. Concentrate. Just relax. Focus." The sphere remained silent. 

"I can't! You do it," Scotty said defeatedly. Scott raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Wallace. Scotty frowned and stifled a yawn. 

"One more try, and then I think we should call it a night," Scott suggested. The boy sighed and looked determinedly at the metal ball once again. _He's going to be more successful than he could possibly imagine,_ Scott thought. He reached for the sphere with his mind. 

The sphere hummed and shone brightly in Scotty's hand. Scott blinked in surprise and nearly lost his concentration. "I did it!!" the boy exclaimed, gaping at the glowing orb. Wallace jumped out of his chair and watched them warily. 

Scott frowned at the sphere in the boy's hand. _That's not him, and it sure as hell isn't me ..._ Scott connected with his sphere. _Dad?_ Scott thought hesitantly. 

_Scott! Are you all right?_ Scott smiled with relief from his father's thoughts. Scotty grinned back at him over his apparent success. 

_I'm okay for now. Where are you?_

_Your mother and I are in Roswell._

_Be careful!_ Scott thought anxiously. _They - three men - got me. I don't know who they are, but they're sure not Fox and Wylie. They're holding me in a box car of a four car train about 25 minutes northeast of town. The train's parked on an alternate track._

_Hang on, we're comin—_

_No!_ Scott protested. _These people are organized, and there's no cover out here. They'll see you coming a mile away._ Scott glanced at Wallace, who shifted his weight nervously as he watched them. _I'm going to make a break for it. I’ll head southwest back along the tracks to the highway. Look for me there._

_Scott, be careful!_

 _I will. And don't try and contact me with the sphere. Someone else has it. I’ll contact you when I've got it back and it's safe to—_

"Uh, Scott?" Scotty's voice interrupted. Scott looked distractedly at the boy. "How do I turn it off?" Scotty shook the glowing sphere in his hand slightly. Wallace loomed behind the boy. 

Scott smiled nervously. "Urn, well, you've got to concentrate some more. Imagine it quiet and still like before." Scotty looked determinedly at the sphere. _Dad, go now. I'm getting out of here._ Scott felt his father's connection drop, but maintained his own concentration with the sphere. 

"It's not working," Scotty said in a small voice. He looked up at Scott worriedly. 

"It's working just fine," Scott said with a slight smile. He turned his attention to the corners of the room. A miniature video camera hid behind each of the corner ceiling panels. Scott shorted them out with a brief pulse of energy. He looked up at Wallace and focused on his cartoid artery. Scott momentarily constricted the artery, limiting the flow of blood to his brain. The big man turned pale and toppled over. 

Scotty jumped to his feet and backed a few steps away. He looked from Wallace's crumpled form on the floor to the sphere still shining in his hand to Scott. The boy's eyes widened with fear. He threw the sphere to the ground. 

Scott stood, breaking free from the unlocked handcuff on his wrist. He scooped up the glowing metal ball and reached for Scotty. "C'mon, let's go!" he said and grasped the boy's shoulder. Neither moved. 

_He's ... human,_ Scott thought dumbfoundedly. Scott knew he should feel the boy's Algeiban nature through his touch, especially while he was connected with his sphere. All he felt were the emotional and physical manifestations of human fear and confusion. 

A soft beep emanated from the door on the far side of the room. Scott rushed to the door near him, dragging the boy along. His sphere shone intensely as he weakened the metal bolts securing the door to the frame. He heard the door on the opposite end of the room swing open. Scott released the boy's arm and pulled violently on the handle with his free hand. Metal groaned and complained, but the door remained shut. Scotty backed away, and Scott heard him sprint across the room. Scott pulled on the door again and looked over his shoulder after the boy. The smoking man stood in front of the door with Scotty just behind him. He reached inside his coat. 

Scott broke contact with his sphere and pulled on the door handle with both hands. The door shuddered and swung open. The suit who'd driven the sedan stood on the platform outside. Scott ducked his head and slammed into him with his shoulder. They fell backwards against the door of the next box car. Scott scrambled to his feet and leaped from the platform. The suit landed close behind Scott and tackled him. They both tumbled to the ground. Scott kicked and fought, but the thug outweighed him. He pressed one knee into Scott's back until he stopped struggling. Scott frantically tried to connect with his sphere, but adrenaline and crushing weight on his back wouldn't allow it. 

"You're quite a lot of trouble, Mr. Hayden." The smoking man's - Spender's - voice drifted down from above. 

Scott craned his neck to address his captor. Spender stood on the platform with Scotty beside him. The light pouring through the doorway slanted diagonally across them. "Let me go, you son of a bitch! I won't be your lab rat!" 

Spender took a drag on his freshly-lit cigarette. "That was never my intention, as you would have found out in a few hours if you'd just cooperated." He looked at the thug pinning Scott to the ground. "Get the sphere away from him before he can do any more damage with it. It's in his right hand." 

The thug strategically placed his thumb and forefinger on Scott's wrist and pinched. Stabbing pain shot up Scott's arm. His hand reflexively opened, and his sphere rolled a few inches away. The thug retrieved it and put it in his coat pocket. "Now we know to keep it out of sight as well," Spender said coolly. "Eisen," he called and tossed a length of clear tygon tubing to the suit. "Tie his hands and get him to his feet." 

Scott felt the thug wrap the smooth tubing around his wrists several times and bind them tightly together. Eisen clamped his hand around Scott's upper arm and hauled him upright facing Spender. "You're wasting my benefactors' time, money, and resources," he stated. His usual aloof nonchalance was missing from his voice. 

"First we had to track you down to this godforsaken place, then you injure my men and destroy my equipment. I'm giving you the opportunity to help mankind resist its greatest threat, and this is my reward?" 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Scott spat. He squirmed and twisted in Eisen's grasp. 

"Bring him inside," Spender ordered. "I'll tell you everything you need to know." 

******

The Crashdown Cafe was silent except for the quiet hum of Paul's sphere. Paul sat at a table with his back to the door, frowning with concentration at the glowing metal ball in his hand. Jenny stared at her fidgeting hands in her chair beside her husband. Their faces were washed a pale blue by sphere's light. Max, Isabel, Michael, Liz, Maria, and Alex stood near the counter glancing surreptitiously at Paul. 

The sphere dimmed and went silent. The others turned to him abruptly. "Is Scott okay?" Jenny asked anxiously. 

"Yes," Paul replied, and silently hoped that his son still was unharmed. "Scott said that he's being held in a box car of a train about 25 minutes northeast of town." He looked up at Michael. "Three men captured him like you said, Michael." Michael smiled cheerlessly. 

"We've got get him out of there!" Jenny exclaimed. 

Paul regarded her somberly. "Scott warned us to keep away. He said he's going to 'make a break for it'. I think he's trying to escape now. He said he'll follow the railroad tracks back to the highway, and to find him there." Paul turned to the teenagers. "Do you know what railroad crossing he's talking about?" 

"It sounds like the one on route 70," Max said. 

Jenny stood up abruptly. "Let's go, then." Paul rose to his feet beside her and pocketed his sphere. Michael took a step towards them. 

"No," Paul said. "Stay here. You don't want to get involved in this." Michael glowered at him. 

Isabel put her hand on Michael's arm. "He's right, Michael. They could be looking for us, too," she said quietly. 

"But what if it's, like, a trap and they're waiting for you?" Maria asked with a nervous wave of her hands. The others regarded her dubiously. 

"Then it's a good thing that you won't be with us," Paul said neutrally. 

"Seriously," Max said, "what if Scott doesn't show up? And what should we do if we don't hear back from you?" 

"Is there anyone else who can help you?" Liz asked quietly. 

Jenny looked up at Paul. "Mary and Evan?" 

Paul nodded. "And Liz." 

Jenny peered around distractedly. "I need a piece of paper or something," she said. Maria handed Jenny her order pad and pen. Jenny scribbled on the top sheet and handed it back to Maria. "Hopefully you won't need to call them, but if you do, say that we sent you with orange blossoms," she said with an uncertain smile. 

The teenagers frowned at Jenny. "Orange blossoms?" Alex echoed skeptically. 

"They'll understand," Jenny assured them. "We've been through this sort of thing before, unfortunately." She grasped Paul's arm and looked up at him. "Come on, Scott could be there already!" 

Paul smiled sincerely at the teenagers. "Thank you." He turned and hurried out the door with Jenny. The teens looked after them silently. After a few moments their green Cherokee sped past the front of the store. 

"Stay here, my ass," Michael muttered. He stalked towards the door. 

"Michael, no!" Isabel shouted. 

Michael spun around. He gestured at the door. "That could just as easily have been us. It's them versus god knows how many feds. I won't let them go alone." 

Isabel frowned and crossed her arms. "Who's playing the hero now, Michael? Just what do you plan to do?" Isabel said scornfully. 

"I don't know," Michael smirked. "I keep surprising myself." He turned on his heel and strode outside. The door slammed shut behind him. 

"Dammit," Max swore. He grabbed his sister's hand and started towards the door. Isabel didn't move. Max turned to his sister. "Come on. We've got to stick together." His dark eyes pleaded with her. Isabel pursed her lips and followed him out the door into the night. 

Alex looked at Liz and Maria questioningly. "Shall we?" he asked, glancing at the door. 

"Nuh-uh." 

"No way." 

"Good," Alex sighed with relief. They stared absently at the door the others had disappeared through. Max's and Isabel's jeep sped by outside. Maria sank into a chair and studied the ground. "Damn Czechoslovakians." 

******

Spender flicked the ashes from his cigarette into half of a petri dish and regarded Scott coolly. Scott sat in the chair against the left wall of the box car with his hands tied behind his back. Eisen stood beside him, keeping a heavy hand on Scott's shoulder. On the opposite side of the room Spender leaned against the counter. Scotty sat on the countertop a few feet to his right. Wallace was stretched out on the cot nursing a splitting headache. Spender took a drag on the cigarette. "We are not alone on this planet, Mr. Hayden," he stated matter-of-factly, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke. 

"No kidding," Scott shot back, thinking not only of his father, but of Michael, Isabel, and Max. He gloomily wondered if they'd be joining him soon. 

Spender frowned at Scott disparagingly. "Are you so egotistical to think that your father is the only extraterrestrial to live on this planet? They've lived here for thousands of years." Spender propped his cigarette on the edge of the petri dish. He pulled something from his coat pocket and strode over to Scott. He held up two small black-capped glass vials, the smaller nested inside the larger. The inner vial contained a viscous black fluid. "This particular one we're encountering more and more frequently." 

Scott frowned at the vials skeptically. "You're telling me that that's an alien," he said flatly. 

"They're not all gray-skinned, black-eyed humanoids," Spender stated. "You of all people should know that." He peered at the vials in his hand. "This one preys on humans. We need to find a way to stop it." Spender smiled at Scott mirthlessly. "You're going to help us." 

_"What?!"_ Scott exclaimed. 

Spender pocketed the vials, moved back to the counter, and retrieved his cigarette. He put the cigarette to his lips, opened the drawer at the end of the counter, and pulled out a thin spiral-bound report. "Scotty," he called. The boy hopped off the counter and stepped over to Spender. "Help Mr. Hayden look through this. The abstract, figures, and conclusions should do." The boy took the report from Spender, moved in front of Scott, and held the document up for him to see. Spender regarded Scott seriously. "That's three decades of research boiled down to twenty-odd pages." He smiled mockingly. "Start reading, Mr. Geffner. You'll be tested on it later." 

Scott ignored the report and looked at Spender in disbelief. "You expect me to figure out whatever it is your scientists couldn't explain in thirty years?" 

Spender leaned against the counter again and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "You've got an advantage our researchers don't — your biology. Think about it, Mr. Hayden. What better defense is there against an alien than a human-alien hybrid?" 

Scott's stomach sank. "Biologically I'm human. You know that. The tests from Peagrum prove it." 

"You're human with a few mutations," Spender acknowledged. "And something else." He glanced at Scotty. "Something we can't reproduce." 

The color drained from Scotty's face. He turned and glared at Spender. "You knew," he said with quiet anger. "You knew the whole time and let me come out here to meet _him —"_ he glared momentarily at Scott "— and get his sphere." The boy rounded on Scott. "And you let me think I could use the damn thing." He turned back to Spender. "I was going to heal myself and then help you fight the aliens." Scotty laughed harshly. "What did you plan to do, use me as bait?" 

A flicker of sympathy crossed Spender's lined face. "I only suspected. We couldn't test the hypothesis without a sphere." 

Scotty's eyes shone with unshed tears. He blinked them back and tossed the report into Scott's lap. "Here. A little something from one lab rat to another," he muttered. He stalked to the far end of the room and sunk to the floor. 

Spender regarded the boy with annoyance and regret. He regained his aloof expression and turned to Eisen. "Untie his hands." Scott's eyebrows rose in surprise. Eisen freed Scott's hands. Scott rubbed his wrists and looked warily at Spender. "Don't try anything," Spender warned. "We've been gentle with you so far." He nodded at the report on Scott's lap. "You've got five minutes to read through that," he announced. "I suggest you do so, otherwise your experiment is bound to fail." 

The threat in Spender's voice and Scott's own curiosity prompted him to skim over the report. Scott gaped at the figures and diagrams. The report described two extraterrestrial biological entities dubbed black oil and black cancer. Their chemistry was based on a number of radioactive isotopes, rendering both species slightly radioactive. The black oil was reported as sentient, while the black cancer was non-sentient but alive. "Both infiltrate the host's epidermis and use an unknown means of locomotion to travel to the pineal gland," Scott read. His stomach lurched. "Black cancer renders a catatonic state upon the host. Black oil subjugates the host's higher brain functions—" Scott looked away from the page. _This stuff seeps into you and either puts you in a coma or takes you over!_ He looked up at Spender in horror. 

"Now you understand our concern," Spender said simply. 

Scott recalled Spender's earlier words: _You've got an advantage our researchers don't — your biology._ "You're not going to ..." he began. Spender looked back wordlessly. Scott leaped out of his seat, sending the report halfway across the room. Eisen caught Scott's shoulder and wrenched him back into the chair. He grabbed his upper arms and pinned him to the back of the chair. Scott kicked viciously, but Eisen dodged to the side. 

"Wallace!" Eisen shouted. Wallace appeared beside him with several long black velcro strips. He caught Scott's flailing legs and bound them to the legs of the chair. Then he secured Scott's wrists to the arms of the chair with his hands palm-up. The suits stepped back and watched Scott twist and buck in his seat. The restraints held him securely. Gradually Scott stopped struggling. He glared at Spender. 

Spender snuffed out his cigarette and strode over to Scott. "Your clones were created for this experiment, but they've been unsuccessful. You're truly one of a kind, Mr. Hayden. However, that makes you a curiosity, a blip on the curve. You're irreproducible and therefore expendable." Wallace handed Spender a pair of nitrile gloves, which Spender tugged on. He glanced at Eisen. "Hand me his sphere." Eisen obeyed, and Spender quickly closed the sphere in his fist. "With this, I think you'll succeed where the clones failed." He deposited the sphere in his pocket and pulled out the nested glass vials. Spender unscrewed the outer cap, shook the inner vial into his gloved hand, and set the larger vial on the countertop. He carefully opened the small vial containing the thick, dark liquid, set the cap aside, and retrieved Scott's sphere from his pocket. Spender held the open vial over Scott's left hand and his fist hiding the sphere over Scott's right hand. 

Scott's eyes were riveted to the black fluid. ''W-which is it?" Scott stammered. 

Spender smiled slightly. "Does it matter?" He tilted the vial. A tiny black globe fell from the rim and splashed on to Scott's left palm. Scott inhaled sharply as he felt and watched the liquid seep into his hand. Spender capped the vial and then released the sphere. Scott's fingers curled around the silver orb the instant it touched his hand. As he reached for the sphere with his mind Scott felt the thick fluid writhing under the skin of his left hand towards his wrist. Scott stared wildly the dark worm wriggling just beneath the surface. He tore his gaze away from the sinister intrusion to his sphere and connected with it. The sphere's pale light and soft hum filled the room. Eisen and Wallace took a step back and watched Scott warily. Spender regarded Scott with genuine curiosity. Scotty stared at him in horror. 

The steady Algeiban energy abated Scott's panic. Scott tore a pinprick hole in his skin at the base of his hand and pushed the oil out. It seeped back into his hand effortlessly and moved towards his wrist. "I suggest you find a way to stop it," Spender said neutrally. Scott built a barrier of air and fluid pressure in front of the tunneling oil. He felt it moving from side to side, looking for a way around the obstacle. Scott stared wide-eyed at the small quivering mass under his skin. _The researchers had tried everything - heat, cold, electricity, radiation, chemicals. What the hell can I do?_ Scott probed the black oil with his mind. The dark fluid pushed through Scott's barrier. It crept into his wrist beneath the velcro strap binding his arm and reappeared on the other side before Scott restrained it again. _DAD!!!_ Scott shrieked mentally. The oil writhed but remained halted under the skin of Scott's forearm. 

******

The flat desert stretched out in all directions around Paul and Jenny. They stood in the dark outside of their Cherokee, which they'd parked a few hundred feet east of the railroad crossing down the dirt road paralleling the tracks. Paul leaned against the front of the car and peered down the tracks. Jenny paced to his left with her hands jammed in the pockets of her windbreaker. She stopped suddenly and pinned Paul with an anxious look. "Can't you check on him with your sphere?" 

"Scott said not to. He said someone else had his sphere, and he'd contact me once he'd gotten it back." 

"Someone else had it?" Jenny repeated. "But he was communicating with you." 

"I know." Paul shook his head. "I don't know what's going on, but I don't like the sounds of it." 

Jenny stared down the railroad tracks briefly and turned back to Paul. "Something's wrong. We've been out here for ten minutes, and it took twenty to get here. We should've seen or heard from Scott by now." 

"I agree," Paul said with a worried frown. He took a step forward and peered down the tracks. "I think I can see the train from here. Let's—" Paul's eyes suddenly grew wide. He staggered backwards into the Cherokee and gasped for air. 

Jenny rushed over to him. "Paul! What's wrong?!" 

"It's Scott," he said hoarsely. "He's terrified. I've never felt anything like this from him, not even at Peagrum." Paul's sphere hummed in his pocket and Scott's cry resounded in his mind. Paul winced and shook his head. "Go!" he shouted at Jenny, pushing her towards the driver's side of the car. "Get in and drive, now!" He scrambled to the passenger side. They climbed into the car. Jenny started the engine, switched the lights on, and floored the accelerator. 

The Cherokee hurtled down the dirt road. Paul pulled his sphere from his pocket. He connected with it, filling the inside of the car with pale blue light. 

_Scott!_ Paul called anxiously. _We're coming! What's happening?!_

Scott's reply was strained and halting. _Third car — rear door. Three men._ There was a long pause. _I can't stop it! Help me!!_ Terror accompanied his thoughts. His contact broke off abruptly. Paul silenced his sphere. 

Jenny shot an anxious glance at him. "What's going on?!" she cried. 

"I don't know," Paul scowled in confusion and frustration. "I think he's being attacked." The Cherokee's headlights illuminated a railroad switch. Another set of tracks veered off to the left. Paul pointed to the alternate tracks. "That way," he said. Jenny steered the Cherokee accordingly. A four car train sat motionlessly on the tracks a short distance ahead. Paul peered at the second to last box car. "Scott said that he's in the third car and to use the rear door," he told Jenny. "There are three men inside." 

Jenny began decelerating as they approached the train. She frowned at the rear view mirror. "Paul," she said tensely, "we're being followed. It looks like an army jeep." Paul twisted in his seat and looked behind them. A jeep was closing on them rapidly. 

Jenny stopped the Cherokee at the rear of the train and turned off the lights. She twisted around in her seat and retrieved her travel bag from the back seat. She set it in her lap, unzipped it, and pulled out a .38 revolver. 

Paul blinked in surprise. "Where'd you get that from?" he asked incredulously. 

Jenny flipped the chamber open. Six brass cartridges lay inside. She snapped the chamber shut and smiled grimly at Paul. "I've had it for ages. You don't think I lived alone for all those years unarmed, do you?" She peered ahead along the length of the train. Nothing stirred. Jenny looked into the rear view mirror. The jeep slowed to a stop a few car lengths behind them. The uniformed soldiers that Jenny expected to rush towards them didn't appear. "What are they waiting for?" Jenny muttered. 

Three shadowy figures climbed out of the jeep and moved slowly towards them. Jenny tightened her grip on the gun and flipped off the safety. Paul frowned at the approaching figures through the rear windshield with his sphere in his right hand. His expression softened suddenly. Paul opened the door. "What are you doing?" Jenny hissed. 

"It's okay," Paul smiled reassuringly. "It's Max, Michael, and Isabel." He stepped outside. 

"Jesus," Jenny sighed and slumped against the back of the driver's seat. Paul shut his door and moved towards the teenagers. Jenny looked worriedly at the train again. There was still no movement. She climbed out of the car and followed her husband. 

"— in case you needed some help," Max was telling Paul quietly. "When you took off like that we figured you did." Jenny and Paul frowned at him. 

"We've got to get going," Paul urged. "Scott's in trouble. Follow us and be careful," he told the teens. 

Max, Isabel, and Michael followed Paul and Jenny to the rear of the third box car. They stopped at the metal ladder leading up to the platform. "I can't believe no one's come out to greet us," Jenny whispered. "I hope that means that we've got surprise on our side." She looked at Paul determinedly. "You push the door in. I'll take whoever's closest. You knock out the other two." Paul looked reluctantly at the gun in his wife's hand but nodded. They climbed up the ladder on to the platform and knelt down. Isabel, Michael, and Max watched anxiously from the ground. Jenny held her gun with both hands and aimed at the door. The sphere in Paul's hand glowed and hummed to life. 

The heavy metal door swung open and banged loudly against the inside wall. Jenny and Paul squinted into the starkly lit interior. Scott sat in a chair against the wall fifteen feet in front and to the left of them. His arms and legs were bound to the chair and his sphere shone in his right hand. Two brawny men in dark suits loomed in front of Scott. A third thinner, older man stood to Scott's left. 

Scott jumped at the sudden noise. His eyes flitted towards the door as the three men whirled and faced the doorway. Jenny fired at the stocky man closest to her, and Paul's sphere glowed brightly. The man nearest them clutched his stomach with a groan and fell to the floor. The other man crumpled to the ground silently. The gaunt man drew a slim 9 mm pistol and trained it on Jenny. 

_"No!”_ Scott shouted, glaring at the older man. His sphere glowed brightly and the man was propelled backwards. He slammed against the wall with a sickening thud and dropped limply on to the cot. The gun clattered to the floor. "Argh!" Scott cried and stared wildly at his left arm. "Dad, help!" he yelled without looking up. 

Jenny watched Paul rush over to Scott. He stepped over the fallen men, met Scott's eyes briefly, and connected with his sphere. "I've got it, Scott," he said. "Relax." Scott's sphere dimmed abruptly. He closed his eyes and slumped against the back of the chair. Paul divided his attention between his sphere and tugging off the velcro strap binding Scott's right arm. 

Jenny straightened slowly. She knew that there was nothing she could do against whatever her son was battling. She flipped the safety of her gun on with trembling hands and looked down at Isabel, Max, and Michael. The three gaped at her and into the room behind her. "Is anyone coming?" she asked, surprised at the calmness of her voice. 

The teens blinked a few times and looked around. "No, no one," Isabel answered. Michael stepped up to the ladder and climbed on to the platform. Max and Isabel followed. 

"One of you stay near the door and keep watch, okay?" Jenny ordered. Isabel nodded and stayed in the doorway. Jenny, Max, and Michael stepped into the room. She looked at the two men on the floor. The one she'd shot writhed in pain. Jenny turned to the teens behind her. "Can you make him sleep?" 

"I think so," Max replied. He knelt beside the big man and touched his arm. His body relaxed and was still. 

"Take their guns away, too," Jenny said, "and make sure you don't leave fingerprints." Max flipped the man's suit coat open. A handgun was holstered on his belt. Max pulled the sleeve of his jacket over his hand and removed the gun. Michael squatted beside the other suit and did the same. They moved to the left side of the room and deposited the guns on the countertop. 

Jenny joined her husband and her son. Scott looked exhausted and roughed up, but unharmed for the most part. He looked up at her wearily. "Mom," he smiled weakly. His gaze included both her and Paul. "Thank god you're here." 

Jenny smiled at him with relief and maternal concern. She looked to Paul, who was staring intently at Scott's arm. She followed his gaze and saw the small dark mass twisting just beneath the skin above Scott's elbow. Her eyes widened. "What the hell is—" Movement on the far side of the room caught her eye. She looked up. A thin, dark- haired boy skidded to a halt at the door. He rapidly punched the keypad above the door handle. "Hold it!" Jenny shouted. She moved around Paul into the middle of the room and aimed her gun at the boy. "Step back from the door!" She fumbled with the safety. The boy stopped, took a step backwards, and slowly raised his hands. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Jenny stared in disbelief at her son's teenage face. Her gun lowered against her will. 

"Somebody get him," Scott ordered. "He can't be trusted." Michael strode over to the boy, grabbed his arm, and turned him around. The boy looked up at Michael uneasily but didn't resist. Paul looked over his shoulder and did a double take. The light from his sphere wavered momentarily. He turned his attention back to his sphere with a puzzled glance at his son. 

Michael squinted at the boy and then at Scott. "He looks—" 

"I know. He looks just like me," Scott said bitterly. "Welcome to the Island of Dr. Moreau." He looked anxiously at his arm and then up at Paul. "Dad, how do you kill this stuff?!" Paul frowned at the squirming mass under Scott's skin in concentration. His sphere glowed more brightly. 

Jenny tore her eyes from her son's younger twin and regarded Scott with alarm. "You mean that's _alive?"_ she said incredulously. 

"Yeah, an alien straight out of _Invasion of the Body Snatchers,"_ Scott scowled. "They've tried just about anything you can think of to stop it." Scott glanced at the older man slumped on the cot. "That lunatic thought that I'd figure it out. All I've been able to do is hold it back." Jenny, Max, Michael, and Isabel stared at Scott in horror. Scott looked up at his father hopefully. 

Paul grimaced. "This species gets its energy from radiation instead of electrochemical energy like humans do," he explained quietly. "The only way to kill it is to eliminate its radioactivity." 

"What the hell am I going to do?!" Scott exclaimed. "You can't just 'eliminate' radioactivity. All you can do is shield it and wait for the radioactive isotopes to decay into stable ones." Paul nodded. Scott looked anxiously at the black oil still struggling beneath his skin, then back to his father. "That'll take years! We can't keep this up forever!" An unsettling silence gripped the room. 

Michael pulled the boy over to Max. "Max, keep an eye on the kid," he said and released the boy's arm. Max took hold of the boy as Michael strode to the counter against the left wall. Michael peered at the black fluid in the smaller of the two glass vials on the countertop. "Scott, is the black stuff in here the same stuff that's, uh, in you?" 

Scott scowled at the vial. "Yeah." 

Michael picked up the vial and scrutinized the viscous black liquid through the glass. The others watched him curiously. He closed the vial in his fist and squinted his eyes shut. After a few long seconds Michael opened his eyes and set the vial back on the counter with a satisfied smile. He turned to Paul and Scott. "You won't have to keep that up for much longer." Michael reached over the counter, put his hand over the dark worm in Scott's arm, and closed his eyes in concentration. After a moment Paul blinked. His sphere dimmed and quieted as Michael removed his hand from Scott's arm. The dark mass sat motionless beneath the silver handprint on Scott's skin. 

A huge smile spread across Scott's face. He looked up at Michael gratefully. "Thank you," he whispered. Jenny and Paul regarded Michael with the same sentiment. 

Paul cocked his head and looked at Michael with wide-eyed curiosity. "How'd you do that?" 

Michael shrugged. "Damned if I know," he said self-consciously. 

Scott's sphere glowed and hummed to life. He peered at his arm, and the black fluid oozed into a dark pool on top of the silver mark on his skin. "Give me that other vial," Scott said. Paul took the empty glass vial from the countertop and handed it to him. Scott held the open end near the dark liquid. It flowed into the vial, and Scott's sphere dimmed and quieted. Scott handed the vial back to Paul with a shudder. "Put the cap on it and get it away from me!" Paul complied, and Scott tore the velcro restraint from his left arm. Michael knelt and freed Scott's legs. 

Scott jumped out of the chair. "Let's get the hell out of here," he said. His eyes fell on the boy and his smile disappeared. The boy looked from Scott to Paul to Michael with huge eyes. 

"Scott, who _is_ he?" Max asked. 

Scott smiled ruefully. " _Scotty_ here is a clone," he said flatly. "They cloned me for this little experiment, but they messed it up somehow. When the clones didn't give him—" Scott's eyes darted to the older man lying unconscious on the cot "— the results he wanted, they came after me." 

"I-I'm sorry," Scotty said in a small voice. "I didn't know they were going to do that." His eyes flickered to the vials of black oil, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I didn't know they'd done that to my brothers." The boy turned to Paul tearfully. "Can you heal me? Can you give me whatever it is that I'm missing?" 

Paul looked at the boy quizzically. "What do you mean?" 

"He's human," Scott said with a nod towards the boy, "but he's got the genes and body chemistry to handle the part of me that's like you." Scott looked sadly at his almost-twin. "It's killing him." 

Paul regarded the boy sympathetically. "You are who you are. I can't make you into someone you're not, but I may be able to help," he said gently. "Do you want me to try?" Scotty nodded silently. Paul glanced at Max. "Let go of him." Max released Scotty's arm. Paul stepped over to the boy with his sphere in hand. Scotty looked up at him with a mixture of fear and awe. "Don't be afraid," Paul smiled. No one spoke as Paul's sphere glowed and hummed softly. Paul and Scotty stared silently at each other for nearly a minute. 

The sphere dimmed and silenced. "How do you feel?" Paul asked. 

Scotty frowned slightly. "The same." He blinked and looked around. "What time is it?" 

"Two-thirty," Jenny replied. 

"I'll find out if anything's different in an hour and a half," Scotty said with a shrug. "I'll skip my next round of medication. If it worked, I'll feel fine. If not, my muscles will cramp up and I'll take the supplements." He smiled up at Paul. "Thank you for trying." Paul returned the smile. 

The man that Paul had knocked unconscious groaned and twisted on the ground. Isabel looked at him with alarm from her post at the door. "We'd better get out of here before they wake up." 

"No, not yet," Paul said. He knelt beside the man and briefly connected with his sphere. The suit relaxed and breathed deeply with sleep. Paul looked up at Scott and nodded at the man on the cot. "Heal whatever injuries he has and make him sleep." 

Scott balked. "After what that bastard did to me?" he said incredulously, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh." 

"Do it," Paul said sternly. Scott frowned but acquiesced. After he'd healed his adversary, Scott retrieved his wallet and keys from the man's coat pocket. Meanwhile Paul moved to the guard that Jenny had shot and healed his wound. 

Max frowned at Paul. "Uh, are you sure that's such a good idea? After they wake up they'll just come after you again." 

"I don't think so," Scotty interjected. All eyes turned to him. Scotty glanced at the vials of black oil. "You gave them what they wanted, along with a lot more trouble than they'd expected," he grinned. 

Jenny regarded Scotty with concern. "Come with us. You can't stay here." 

Scotty frowned. He looked at the older man and thought for a moment. A small smile crept across his face and he shook his head. "No, I'll stay here. If I leave they'll come after me. They're not through with me yet." 

Jenny's eyes darted from Scotty to the vials of black oil and back. "But they'II—" 

"No, they won't. There's no point, as Spender would put it, 'wasting valuable resources' on me." The boy turned to Scott ruefully. "He'd hoped I could use your sphere to neutralize the black oil. As soon as he realized I couldn't, he dropped me and used you instead." Scotty looked at Paul hopefully. "And if what you did before worked, I'll be another ordinary, and in Spender's eyes, useless human. After they're done trying to figure out what you did to me they'll let me go!" Scotty grinned at the notion. 

Scott frowned at the boy. "You really think they'll let you just walk away, after everything you've seen?" 

Scotty's smile diminished. "I'll take that chance. Besides, who could I report them to, the police? My congressman? Who would believe me?" 

"Good point," Max acknowledged. 

"Then go, before they wake up!" Scotty urged. He looked at Jenny and Paul. "I'll tell them that you knocked me out after you busted in here and didn't see anything." The boy turned to Michael with a wry smile. "Trying to reproduce what you did will keep them occupied for years." 

Michael's eyebrows rose suddenly. "Fingerprints." He strode to the counter and covered one hand with the sleeve of his jacket. Michael picked up the vials, and wiped them clean, and put them back. 

Isabel fidgeted nervously in the doorway. She looked at her companions impatiently. "Let's go already!" 

With a few last looks and reluctant good byes to Scotty the group filed out the door. Scott, the last one out, hesitated just outside the doorway. "I hope everything turns out like you said, for all of us," he told his younger twin. He forced a smile. "Look me up if you're ever in Madison." 

"Sure thing," Scotty said with grim smile and pushed the door shut. The wedge of light spilling on to the platform between the box cars shrunk and disappeared. 

Scott blinked to adjust his eyes to the pre-dawn twilight. He climbed down the ladder to the ground and joined his parents and newfound friends by their cars. Scott stopped and looked from the teenagers to his parents curiously. Scott turned to Paul and Jenny. "I know how you found me, but how did you find them?" 

All eyes turned to Michael. Michael thrust his hands into his coat pockets and looked at Scott with a wry smile. "Well, I kinda borrowed your truck ...”

###    
**Chapter 4: Departure**  


A comfortable muzziness born from deep, restful sleep enveloped Scott. He snuggled deeper inside his warm sleeping bag. The logical part of him warned that all was not well since he was lying on the hard floor instead of in his own bed. Scott's intuitive side knew that he was safe for the time of being. He sighed contentedly. 

Soft footsteps and the sound of a door gently opening roused Scott from his slumber. "Here, take this. It's not much, I'm afraid," a female voice said quietly. Paper rustled briefly. "I'm really sorry to rush you out of here like this." Scott recognized the voice, but his drowsy mind couldn't place it. 

"That's okay, we understand. Thank you for everything," a second feminine voice replied. 

_Mom?_ Scott thought. He heard the door softly shut, followed by a few light footfalls. Scott stuck his head out of the sleeping bag and struggled awake. Through squinted eyes he saw Jenny deposit a styrofoam takeout box, three lidded paper coffee cups, and a white paper bag on the table in the corner of the room opposite the door. As his eyes focused further he recognized his surroundings — the comfortably furnished study above the Crashdown Cafe. 

"Good morning," Paul's voice said to Scott's right. Scott turned his head and found his father smiling down at him from his seat in the overstuffed couch. Sunlight slanted through the window to Paul's right, illuminating his right side. 

Scott returned the smile sleepily and sat up. ''Morning,'' he murmured, stretching his arms in front of him into the sunbeam. The silver handprint on his left arm shone brightly in the light. "Gah!" Scott exclaimed and pulled his arm back. The night's events rushed back to him. He looked from Paul to Jenny. "Please tell me that that was just a nightmare." 

Jenny pursed her lips. "It was a nightmare with a happy ending, I hope." 

"How do you feel?" Paul asked. 

Scott eyed the handprint on his arm. His arm felt fine, although his stomach and the back of his head ached dully. "Okay, I guess." He rubbed the silver mark with his right hand. It didn't come off. Scott frowned. He fished his sphere from his jeans pocket and connected with it. After healing his various scrapes and bruises, he turned his attention to the handprint. Scott was surprised to find that the silver mark wasn't a physical layer on his skin. It seemed to be some sort of energy in the skin cells that Michael had touched. Scott silenced and pocketed his sphere. 

Jenny frowned at Scott's arm. "Can't you get rid of that?" 

Scott shook his head reluctantly. "No, I don't understand what it is. I think it's energy leftover from whatever Michael did to neutralize the black oil." He smiled ruefully. "Some souvenir, huh?" The rich aroma of coffee wafted from the table. Scott nodded at the door. "Was that Liz?" 

"Yes," Jenny replied. "She came by about a half hour ago with a message from Max, Isabel, and Michael. They asked us to meet them at the old copper mine at 11:00. You know where that is?" Scott nodded. "Then she came back up with all this," Jenny smiled. She peered inside the white paper bag briefly and upended it on the table. Plastic utensils, paper napkins, sugar packets, and small containers of butter, jelly, and half-n-half spilled onto the tabletop. 

Scott's stomach rumbled. "So what's for breakfast?" he asked. 

Jenny opened the lid of the Styrofoam box. "Two bagels, some strawberries, and two pieces of pie. Blackberry, I think, and—" she grinned up at Paul "— Dutch apple." Paul smiled with delight. 

"Well, get over here and eat!" Jenny said with a smile. "We've got to get going. Liz asked that we leave by 10:00, and it's already after nine. She said that her parents own this place, and that they'll be coming over here to take care of paperwork." Paul and Scott rose to their feet and sat with Jenny at the table. The food was divided up rapidly. Neither Scott nor Jenny challenged Paul's claim on the slice of apple pie. 

Scott swallowed a mouthful of blackberry pie and regarded his parents happily. "I'm so glad you got here all right," he grinned. He paused and his smile faded. "I'm not going to think about what would have happened if you hadn't shown up when you did." Scott looked at Jenny curiously. "Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" 

"It's not that hard at close range," Jenny said quietly. "I wish it hadn't been necessary." She took a sip of her coffee and regarded Paul and Scott seriously. "I hate to say it, but we're not out of the woods yet. Those men could be anywhere." 

"We're going to meet Michael, Max, and Isabel, right?" Scott asked. Paul and Jenny nodded in agreement. "I bet we'll be able to see the railroad tracks from the copper mine." They frowned at him in confusion. "It's at the top of a big hill," Scott explained. "You can see for miles. Those white box cars should be easy to spot." Mention of the train prompted worried thoughts of Scott's younger twin. The family continued eating in a subdued silence. 

Scott bit into half of a bagel and chewed thoughtfully. "Dad, do you think what you did for Scotty worked?" 

"I think so," Paul replied. He pressed the few remaining bits of apple pie onto his fork and looked at Jenny and Scott seriously. "The question is, what will they do with him?" 

Scott grimaced. He looked at his father intently. "What went wrong? I mean, why isn't he half Algeiban like me?" 

A small smile touched Paul's lips. "Your Algeiban side isn't in your genes," he explained softly. "It's a part of me that I gave you at your conception. People like Spender don't understand things like that, things that can't be programmed, categorized or easily referenced." 

Scott stared out the window. "What if ...” he said uncomfortably, "what if Melany and I decide to have kids?" Scott turned back to his father earnestly. "I have no clue how to 'give' part of myself. What if I can't figure it out? I don't want them to suffer like Scotty has." 

Paul smiled sympathetically. "You'll know what to do. Trust me." Scott frowned at the tabletop pensively. 

Jenny laid a gentle hand on her son's arm and smiled at him warmly. "C'mon. We've got other things to worry about right now." She began collecting the trash left over from their meal into the paper bag. Scott smiled back and stood up. He rolled up his sleeping bag while Paul gathered his and Jenny's belongings. The study soon looked like they'd never been there. 

The three descended downstairs and exited out the back door. Paul, Jenny, and Scott blinked in the bright sunlight as they strode down the sidewalk to their cars. Before retiring the night before they'd moved their cars out of the Crashdown's parking lot and parked a block away, just in case. 

"How long does it take to get to the copper mine, Scott?" Jenny asked. 

"Not long. About ten minutes." They stopped besides Scott's truck. Scott frowned at it. "We've got to move this thing. Spender and his goons will recognize it." He turned to his parents. "Follow me to the high school — it's only a few miles from here. I'll park the truck around back, then we can take your car." Paul and Jenny nodded. 

The short ride to the high school went without incident. The family decided to chance a drive past the Saddlecreek townhouse complex to look for any obvious signs that they were still being pursued. No police cars or black sedans lurked near Scott's apartment or in the field on the other side of the pecan grove. Their absence gave the three a small measure of relief. Paul turned the Cherokee around and headed east through Roswell. 

On their way to the copper mine Scott, Jenny, and Paul caught each other up on the events of the past week. Scott did most of the talking. Compared to Scott's past few days in Roswell, his parents' trip through Kansas and southeastern Colorado was unremarkable. 

Scott directed Paul to the windy dirt road leading to the copper mine. They climbed to the top of the hill and rolled to a stop next to Isabel's and Max's jeep. The three teenagers sat on the ground near the edge of the slope leading down to the turquoise lake. They rose to their feet as Jenny, Paul, and Scott walked over to them. 

"Hi," Max said with a hesitant smile. "Thanks for coming." 

"Sure" Scott replied distractedly. He shaded his eyes with his hand and peered to the north. The thin line of the railroad slanted northeast across the desert. He found the fork where the alternate tracks branched off to the north. Both sets of tracks were empty. 

"They're gone," Isabel stated. "We brought binoculars to be sure. There's no sign of them." 

"Thank god," Jenny sighed softly. 

Paul frowned. "That doesn't necessarily mean that they've given up." He glanced at Scott. "After all, Fox chased us for four years." Michael, Isabel, and Max regarded them with alarm. 

"Well," Scott mused aloud, "either they're through with us 'cause you —" he shot a grateful smile at Michael "— gave them what they wanted, or they'll be back." Scott turned to his parents with grim determination. “I'm not going to spend the rest of my life running and hiding. I think we should stay here for a while and see what happens." 

"You're just going to sit here and wait for them to show up?" Michael asked incredulously. 

Scott shrugged. "It doesn't matter where we go. They found me across the country in a week. Spender seems to have the resources to track us down anywhere." 

"I think you're right, Scott," Paul said soberly. He laid his hand on his son's shoulder. "If they come looking for us, we'll face them together." Jenny smiled up at Paul and put her arm around his waist. The group shared an uncertain silence. 

Michael's voice broke the quiet. He turned to Paul earnestly. "We've got a thousand questions for you." 

"A thousand?" Paul echoed with a playful grin. "That could take a while. We'd better find some shade." The group settled down in the narrow swath of shadow cast by their cars. 

"Before you guys get started, I've got a question for you, Michael." Scott interjected. Michael looked at him curiously, and Scott extended his left arm. The silver handprint shone slightly in the shade. "Can you get rid of this?" 

Michael grinned self-consciously. "No, but it should fade away in a day or two. That's what happened with Liz, anyway." 

Scott smiled ironically. "Even if it doesn't, I'll take this over the alternative any day." 

******

The three aliens who'd been raised as humans, the alien masquerading as a human, the half-human, and the human female conversed for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Max, Michael, and Isabel were bitterly disappointed to hear that Paul had not previously encountered their kind. Paul tried to explain his lack of knowledge with an analogy. "There are more species in the universe than you can imagine. Would you expect a Czechoslovakian to know all about the Chinese?" The teens' disappointment was interrupted with sudden amusement. Paul assumed he'd unwittingly said something humorous again and the awkward moment passed. They went on to exchange stories of isolation, pursuit, and fear of exposure as well as those of luck and unexpected friendship. 

The group returned to Roswell in the late afternoon tired, happy, and slightly sunburned. They drove to the Crashdown Cafe to see if Liz, Maria, or Alex had seen any signs of continued pursuit. Both Maria and Liz were working. The girls cheerfully reported that they hadn't seen anything suspicious. The group decided to stay for dinner, and Scott joked about being their best customer. As Liz and Maria brought out their food Sheriff Valenti walked in. He said hello to the teens with a cool, considering smile and moved to the counter. The group's conversation became a tense silence. Paul and Jenny led the others through slightly strained small talk until the sheriff left with a takeout order. After they'd caught their breaths, Max, Isabel, and Michael assured their new friends that Valenti's aloof demeanor was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Saturday night Scott, Paul, and Jenny slept in the study above the cafe again. Sunday morning they drove along the highways paralleling the railroad tracks. They found no white box cars coupled to any of the freight trams. That evening they picked up Scott's truck from the high school parking lot and ventured to Scott's apartment. No one awaited them inside, and Scott's belongings were exactly as he'd left them two days ago. They decided to stay the night. The family slept in shifts in case Spender and his men had been biding their time. 

Monday morning arrived without incident. Scott decided to go to work to avoid even the smallest amount of undue attention. The silver handprint on his arm had faded but was still noticeable, so Scott donned a long-sleeved dress shirt. Jenny and Paul played tourist while Scott was at the high school. The school's air conditioning unit broke down that morning. Scott panted in stuffy classrooms in his long-sleeved shirt. With the exception of a few knowing grins at Scott's discomfort, Liz, Michael, Max, and Scott feigned a disinterested student-teacher relationship. 

The group's wary anticipation lessened with each passing day. By Wednesday evening Paul, Scott, and Jenny were confident enough to call their friends and loved ones from a payphone to let them know that they were safe. Melany had been particularly worried since Scott had ended their last contact so abruptly. Scott assured her that he and his parents were okay, and that they hoped to be back in Madison by Monday. Melany was overjoyed. She happily reported that she'd seen nothing unusual since she'd returned to their apartment that weekend. 

Max, Isabel, Michael, Alex, Maria, and Liz concealed their disappointment as best they could upon hearing that their new friends planned to leave Saturday morning. Thursday passed quietly. On Friday morning Scott informed the high school administration that a family emergency — _My life to get back to,_ he thought — had come up, and apologized for his sudden departure. When asked for his forwarding address, Scott left that of the Chicago P.O. box that Liz Baynes had set up for him. 

The entire group gathered Friday evening for a farewell barbecue behind Scott's apartment. Periods of levity alternated with intervals of quiet melancholy. The sun dropped below the horizon. Soon afterwards their breath formed frosty clouds in the fading light. Michael, Max, Isabel, Liz, Maria, and Alex reluctantly bid Scott, Paul, and Jenny goodbye. They exchanged addresses and good luck wishes under the whispering leaves of the pecan trees and the shimmering stars above. 

******

The delicate white flakes of Madison's latest snowfall floated lazily in the deepening dusk outside. Scott idly watched them from the window of the spare bedroom-turned-study of his apartment as he waited for his PC's modem to finish its staticy sputtering. The device silenced abruptly. Scott turned his attention to the computer. He logged on to one of the large web-based ISP's websites to check his new and relatively anonymous email account. After entering his username and password, Scott was pleasantly surprised to find five new messages. Upon closer inspection four of the five were spam which he quickly deleted. The remaining message was from evansm@roswell.k12.nm.us. _Max must have gotten my letter already,_ Scott thought with a smile. He started reading Max's short message. 

**Hey Scott,**

**How's everything up north? Are you buried under a foot of snow yet? I bet you miss the wonderful city of Roswell, at least for the weather. We wish you were here, especially since a new sub started teaching bio Monday. We up to our eyeballs in fill-in-the-blank worksheets and bored to tears. If you get sick of the university anytime soon come back down and we'll get you your old job back.**

**But seriously - I had a close call the other day. There was a bad grease fire at home that I put out, much to the sheriff's surprise. Neither my mom nor I were hurt, but she and the sheriff have been asking questions. No matter how careful I am, stuff like this happens. Does it ever end? Wait, don't answer that.**

**Got to go, got English in five minutes. Keep an eye out for email from Isabel and Michael. They've been hunting and pecking out their messages for the past couple days. Catch ya later.**

**Max**

Scott stared at the monitor with a combination of amusement and wistfulness. _No, Max, it doesn't end. What matters is who's paying attention._

The muffled thud of the front door slamming shut carried into the study. "Hello!" Melany's voice drifted to Scott's ears. 

Scott smiled. He pushed his chair away from the desk and strode down the short hallway into the living room. Melany stood just in front of the door wearing her winter coat over green hospital scrubs. She dropped her bag to the floor and shook her head, scattering snowflakes from her long black hair. "You're bringing half of the snow in here," Scott grinned. 

Melany looked up at Scott and smiled. "Nah," she disagreed and kicked off her snowy boots. "There's plenty more outside." Melany shrugged off her jacket as Scott walked over to her. He took her coat in one arm, wrapped the other around Melany's waist, and pulled her close. They kissed for a long moment, then looked fondly at one another. "I'm so glad you're back," Melany said softly. 

"Me, too," Scott agreed. They pulled apart. Melany picked up her bag, and Scott opened the closet door to hang up her jacket. 

"Oh, hold up," Melany said. She reached into one of the coat's pockets and pulled out a few envelopes and a brightly colored circular. Scott hung up her coat as she selected a letter from mail. "A letter came from a friend of yours in Seattle." 

"Seattle?" Scott frowned. "Both Tim and Bill moved away last year." She handed him the letter. Scott glanced at the handwritten return address and did a double take. "Isley?!" he said in disbelief. Scott moved to the couch and sat down, tugging the letter open. 

Melany peered after him curiously. "What?" 

"My mom went by that name once," Scott murmured. He pulled out the sheet of notebook paper inside and read. 

**Hi Scott,**

**If you're reading this, then everything did go like I said for all of us. I'm writing from my new home in Seattle. My foster parents and I are getting to know each other. It's been interesting. Although they were told that I came from an "unstable environment," they probably think I'm pretty strange. Living in a house with only two other people is weird. We've got two ferrets which is cool, since I never could have a pet before. School is similar to what I'm used to at least. I've caught a few of the older teachers, and some people around town staring at me. I think Spender once said that you lived in Seattle for a while.**

**If so he's got a pretty warped sense of humor.**

**I wrote your parents too, to say hi and tell them that I'm okay. Tell your friends in Roswell if you want. I've got all of you to thank for being able to write these letters at all. I keep wondering what made it all work out. Maybe the stars were aligned just right that day. Whatever it was I'm glad. Anyway write back and the next time you're in Seattle drop by. I'll tell my parents that you're my long lost brother.**

**Scott Isley**

**(still getting used to that name)**

Scott looked up from the letter with a faraway expression. Melany sat down beside him. "Scott, is everything okay?" 

Scott turned and regarded her pensively. He thought of Scotty healthy and with his new family in Seattle, Max, Michael, Isabel, and their friends together in Roswell, and his parents in their house on Lake Mendota. "Yes," Scott smiled at his wife. "Everything's fine." 

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All of the characters are fictional, and any resemblance of the characters to actual persons is coincidental and unintentional. This work is based on the movie Starman and the television series of the same name and the television series Roswell and The X Files. This Is a not-for-profit publication and Is not Intended to infringe on copyrights held by ABC-TV, FOX-TV, The WB, Henerson-Hirsch, Chris Carter, 20th Century Fox Television, Jason Katmis, Melinda Mertz, Michael Douglas Productions, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Columbia Pictures. This material may not be copied or reproduced in any form without express written consent of the author. Copyright May 2000. All rights reserved.**

THE END


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